DARK  HOLLOW 


ON    THE    INSTANT     HE    RECOGNIZED    THAT     NO     COMMON 
INTERVIEW    LAY    BEFORE   HIM  (Page  6 1) 


DARK  HOLLOW 


BY 

ANNA  KATHARINE  GREEN 

Author  of  "The  Leavenworth   Case,"  "The  House 

of  the  Whispering  Pines,"  "Initials  Only," 

"Masterpieces  of  Mystery,"  etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

THOMAS  FOGARTY 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY, 
1914 


COPYRIGHT,  1913.  i9*4 
BT  DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 

Published  January,  1914 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 

THE  WOMAN  IN  PURPLE 

PAGB 

I    WHERE  Is  BELA? 3 

II    WAS  HE  LIVING  — WAS  HE  DEAD?    .      .  9 

III  BELA  THE  REDOUBTABLE 21 

IV  "AND  WHERE  WAS  I  WHEN  ALL  THIS 

HAPPENED?  " 30 

V    "  SHE  WORE  PURPLE  " 36 

VI    ACROSS  THE  BRIDGE 46 

VII    WITH  HER  VEIL  DOWN 61 

VIII    WITH  HER  VEIL  LIFTED 67 

IX    EXCERPTS ;     .  88 

X    THE  SHADOW 107 

XI    "  I  WILL  THINK  ABOUT  IT  "  .     .      .      .115 

XII    SOUNDS  IN  THE  NIGHT 131 

BOOK  II 

THE  HOUSE  AND  THE  ROOM 

XIII  A  BIT  OF  STEEL 129 

XIV  ALL  Is  CLEAR 139 

XV    THE  PICTURE 145 

XVI    "DON'T!     DON'T!" 154 

XVII     UNWELCOME  TRUTHS 163 

XVIII     REFLECTIONS    .  .180 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XIX  ALANSON  BLACK 188 

XX  WHAT  HAD  MADE  THE  CHANGE  ?    .      .   200 

XXI  IN  THE  COURT  ROOM 209 

XXII  BEFORE  THE  GATES 220 

XXIII  THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  MY  HOUSE       .     228 

XXIV  ONE  SECRET  LESS 245 

XXV    "WHAT    Do    You    THINK    OF    HIM 

Now?" 271 

XXVI    THE  TELEGRAM 286 

BOOK  III 

THE  DOOR  OF  MYSTERY 

XXVII     HE  MUST  BE  FOUND  .      .     .    ' .     .     .295 
XXVIII     THE  FIRST  EFFORT     .     ....      .305 

XXIX    "  THERE  Is  BUT  ONE  THING  TO  Do  "    .  310 
XXX    TEMPEST  LODGE     .      .      .      .      >     .      .315 

XXXI     ESCAPE 323 

XXXII    THE  VIGIL 333 

XXXIII  THE  CURTAIN  LIFTED 343 

XXXIV  DARK  HOLLOW 352 

XXXV    SUNSET 375 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

On  the  instant  he  recognised  that  no  common  interview 

lay  before  him Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


After  one  look  he  assumed  some  show  of  his  old  com- 
manding presence  and  advanced  bravely  down  the 
steps 90 

Silence!     Not  even  Heaven  spoke 204 

"  Tell  me  what  this  means,"  said  he,  but  he  did  not 

turn  his  head  as  he  made  this  request   .      ....   302 


BOOK  I 
THE  WOMAN  IN  PURPLE 


WHERE    IS    BELA? 

A  HIGH  and  narrow  gate  of  carefully  joined  boards, 
standing  ajar  in  a  fence  of  the  same  construction! 
What  is  there  in  this  to  rouse  a  whole  neighbourhood 
and  collect  before  it  a  group  of  eager,  anxious,  hesi- 
tating people? 

I  will  tell  you. 

This  fence  is  no  ordinary  fence,  and  this  gate  no 
ordinary  gate;  nor  is  the  fact  of  the  latter  standing 
a  trifle  open,  one  to  be  lightly  regarded  or  taken  an 
inconsiderate  advantage  of.  For  this  is  Judge  Os- 
trander's  place,  and  any  one  who  knows  Shelby  or 
the  gossip  of  its  suburbs,  knows  that  this  house  of 
his  has  not  opened  its  doors  to  any  outsider,  man  or 
woman,  for  over  a  dozen  years;  nor  have  his  gates 

—  in  saying  which,  I  include  the  great  one  in  front 

—  been  seen  in  all  that  time  to  gape  at  any  one's 
instance  or  to  stand  unclosed  to  public  intrusion,  no, 
not  for  a  moment.     The  seclusion  sought  was  ab- 
solute.    The  men  and  women  who  passed  and  re- 
passed  this  corner  many  times  a  day  were   as   ig- 
norant as  the  townspeople  in  general  of  what  lay 
behind  the  grey,  monotonous  exterior  of  the  weather- 
beaten  boards  they  so   frequently  brushed   against. 
The  house  was  there,  of  course, —  they  all  knew  the 
house,  or  did  once  —  but  there  were  rumours   (no 

3 


4  DARK  HOLLOW 

one  ever  knew  how  they  originated)  of  another 
fence,  a  second  barrier,  standing  a  few  feet  inside 
the  first  and  similar  to  it  in  all  respects,  even  to  the 
gates  which  corresponded  exactly  with  these  outer 
and  visible  ones  and  probably  were  just  as  fully  pro- 
vided with  bolts  and  bars. 

To  be  sure,  these  were  reports  rather  than  ac- 
knowledged facts,  but  the  possibility  of  their  truth 
roused  endless  wonder  and  gave  to  the  eccentricities 
of  this  well-known  man  a  mysterious  significance 
which  lost  little  or  nothing  in  the  slow  passage  of 
years. 

And  now !  in  the  freshness  of  this  summer  morn- 
ing, without  warning  or  any  seeming  reason  for  the 
change,  the  strict  habit  of  years  has  been  broken 
into  and  this  gate  of  gates  is  not  only  standing  un- 
locked before  their  eyes,  but  a  woman  —  a  stranger 
to  the  town  as  her  very  act  shows  —  has  been  seen 
to  enter  there!  —  to  enter,  but  not  come  out;  which 
means  that  she  must  still  be  inside,  and  possibly  in 
the  very  presence  of  the  judge. 

Where  is  Bela?  Why  does  he  allow  his  er- 
rands —  But  it  was  Bela,  or  so  they  have  been  told, 
who  left  this  gate  ajar  ...  he,  the  awe  and  terror 
of  the  town,  the  enormous,  redoubtable,  close- 
mouthed  negro,  trusted  as  man  is  seldom  trusted, 
and  faithful  to  his  trust,  yes,  up  to  this  very  hour, 
as  all  must  acknowledge,  in  spite  of  every  tempta- 
tion (and  they  had  been  many  and  alluring)  to  dis- 
close the  secret  of  this  home  of  which  he  was  not 
the  least  interesting  factor.  What  has  made  him 


WHERE  IS  BELA?  5 

thus  suddenly  careless,  he  who  has  never  been  care- 
less before?  Money?  A  bribe  from  the  woman 
who  had  entered  there? 

Impossible  to  believe,  his  virtue  has  always  been 
so  impeccable,  his  devotion  to  his  strange  and  domi- 
nating master  so  sturdy  and  so  seemingly  unaffected 
by  time  and  chance ! 

Yet,  what  else  was  there  to  believe?  There  stood 
the  gate  with  the  pebble  holding  it  away  from  the 
post;  and  here  stood  half  the  neighbourhood,  star- 
ing at  that  pebble  and  at  the  all  but  invisible  crack 
it  made  where  an  opening  had  never  been  seen  be- 
fore, in  a  fascination  which  had  for  its  motif,  not 
so  much  the  knowledge  that  these  forbidden  pre- 
cincts had  been  invaded  by  a  stranger,  as  that 
they  were  open  to  any  intruding  foot  —  that  they, 
themselves,  if  they  had  courage  enough,  might  go 
in,  just  as  this  woman  had  gone  in,  and  see  —  why, 
what  she  is  seeing  now  —  the  unknown,  unguessed 
reason  for  all  these  mysteries;  —  the  hidden  treas- 
ure or  the  hidden  sorrow  which  would  explain  why 
he,  their  first  citizen,  the  respected,  even  revered 
judge  of  their  highest  court,  should  make  use  of  such 
precautions  and  show  such  unvarying  determination 
to  bar  out  all  comers  from  the  place  he  called  his 
home. 

It  had  not  always  been  so.  Within  the  memory 
of  many  there  it  had  been  an  abode  of  cheer  and 
good  fellowship.  Not  a  few  of  the  men  and  women 
now  hesitating  before  its  portals  could  boast  of 
meals  taken  at  the  judge's  ample  board,  and  of  even- 


6  DARK  HOLLOW 

ings  spent  in  animated  conversation  in  the  great 
room  where  he  kept  his  books  and  did  his  writing. 

But  that  was  before  his  son  left  him  in  so  unac- 
countable a  manner;  before  —  yes,  all  were  agreed 
on  this  point  —  before  that  other  bitter  ordeal  of 
his  middle  age,  the  trial  and  condemnation  of  the 
man  who  had  waylaid  and  murdered  his  best  friend. 

Though  the  effect  of  these  combined  sorrows  had 
not  seemed  to  be  immediate  (one  month  had  seen 
both)  ;  though  a  half-year  had  elapsed  before  all  so- 
ciability was  lost  in  extreme  self-absorption,  and  a 
full  one  before  he  took  down  the  picket-fence  which 
had  hitherto  been  considered  a  sufficient  protection 
to  his  simple  grounds,  and  put  up  these  boards  which 
had  so  completely  isolated  him  from  the  rest  of  the 
world,  it  was  evident  enough  to  the  friends  who  re- 
called his  look  and  step  as  he  walked  the  streets  with 
Algernon  Etheridge  on  one  side  and  his  brilliant, 
ever-successful  son  on  the  other,  that  the  change  now 
observable  in  him  was  due  to  the  violent  sundering 
of  these  two  ties.  Affections  so  centred  wreck  the 
lives  from  which  they  are  torn;  and  Time,  which 
reconciles  most  men  to  their  losses,  had  failed  to 
reconcile  him  to  his.  Grief  slowly  settled  into  con- 
firmed melancholy,  and  melancholy  into  the  eccen- 
tricities of  which  I  have  spoken  and  upon  which  I 
must  now  enlarge  a  trifle  further,  in  order  that  the 
curiosity  and  subsequent  action  of  the  small  group  of 
people  in  whom  we  are  interested  may  be  fully  un- 
derstood and,  possibly,  in  some  degree  pardoned. 

Judge  Ostrander  was,  as  I  have  certainly  made 


WHERE  IS  BELA?  7 

you  see,  a  recluse  of  the  most  uncompromising  type ; 
but  he  was  such  for  only  half  his  time.  From  ten  in 
the  morning  till  five  in  the  afternoon,  he  came  and 
went  like  any  other  citizen,  fulfilling  his  judicial  du- 
ties with  the  same  scrupulous  care  as  formerly  and 
with  more  affability.  Indeed,  he  showed  at  times, 
and  often  when  it  was  least  expected,  a  mellowness  of 
temper  quite  foreign  to  him  in  his  early  days.  The 
admiration  awakened  by  his  fine  appearance  on  the 
bench  was  never  marred  now  by  those  quick  and 
rasping  tones  of  an  easily  disturbed  temper  which 
had  given  edge  to  his  invective  when  he  stood  as 
pleader  in  the  very  court  where  he  now  presided  as 
judge.  But  away  from  the  bench,  once  quit  of 
the  courthouse  and  the  town,  the  man  who  attempted 
to  accost  him  on  his  way  to  his  carriage  or  sought 
to  waylay  him  at  his  own  gate,  had  need  of  all  his 
courage  to  sustain  the  rebuff  his  presumption  in- 
curred. 

One  more  detail  and  I  will  proceed  with  my  story. 

The  son,  a  man  of  great  ability  who  was  mak- 
ing his  way  as  a  journalist  in  another  city,  had 
no  explanation  to  give  of  his  father's  peculiari- 
ties. Though  he  never  came  to  Shelby  —  the  rup- 
ture between  the  two,  if  rupture  it  were,  seeming 
to  be  complete  —  there  were  many  who  had  visited 
him  in  his  own  place  of  business  and  put  such  ques- 
tions concerning  the  judge  and  his  eccentric  manner 
of  living  as  must  have  provoked  response  had  the 
young  man  had  any  response  to  give.  But  he  ap- 
peared to  have  none.  Either  he  was  as  ignorant 


8  DARK  HOLLOW 

as  themselves  of  the  causes  which  had  led  to  his 
father's  habit  of  extreme  isolation,  or  he  showed 
powers  of  dissimulation  hardly  in  accordance  with 
the  other  traits  of  his  admirable  character. 

All  of  which  closed  inquiry  in  this  direction,  but 
left  the  maw  of  curiosity  unsatisfied. 

And  unsatisfied  it  had  remained  up  to  this  hour, 
when  through  accident — -or  was  it  treachery  —  the 
barrier  to  knowledge  was  down  and  the  question  of 
years  seemed  at  last  upon  the  point  of  being  an- 
swered. 


II 

WAS    HE    LIVING? WAS    HE   DEAD? 

MEANTIME,  a  fussy,  talkative  man  was  endeavour- 
ing to  impress  the  rapidly  collecting  crowd  with  the 
advisability  of  their  entering  all  together  and  ap- 
proaching the  judge  in  a  body. 

"  We  can  say  that  we  felt  it  to  be  our  dooty  to 
follow  this  woman  in,"  he  argued.  "  We  don't 
know  who  she  is,  or  what  her  errand  is.  She  may 
mean  harm;  I've  heard  of  such  things,  and  are  we 
goin'  to  see  the  judge  in  danger  and  do  nothin'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  woman's  all  right,"  spoke  up  another 
voice.  "  She  has  a  child  with  her.  Didn't  you  say 
she  had  a  child  with  her,  Miss  Weeks?  " 

"Yes,  and—" 

"  Tell  us  the  whole  story,  Miss  Weeks.  Some  of 
us  haven't  heard  it.  Then  if  it  seems  our  duty  as  his 
neighbours  and  well-wishers  to  go  in,  we'll  just 
go  in." 

The  little  woman  towards  whom  this  appeal  — 
or  shall  I  say  command  —  was  directed,  flushed  a 
fine  colour  under  so  many  eyes,  but  immediately  be- 
gan her  ingenuous  tale.  She  had  already  related  it 
a  half  dozen  times  into  as  many  sympathising  ears, 
but  she  was  not  one  to  shirk  publicity,  for  all  her 
retiring  manners  and  meekness  of  disposition. 

It  was  to  this  effect: 


io  DARK  HOLLOW 

She  was  sitting  in  her  front  window  sewing. 
(Everybody  knew  that  this  window  faced  the  end 
of  the  lane  in  which  they  were  then  standing.)  The 
blinds  were  drawn  but  not  quite,  being  held  in  just 
the  desired  position  by  a  string.  Naturally,  she 
could  see  out  without  being  very  plainly  seen  herself; 
and  quite  naturally,  too,  since  she  had  watched  the 
same  proceeding  for  years,  she  had  her  eyes  on  this 
gate  when  Bela,  prompt  to  the  minute  as  he  always 
was,  issued  forth  on  his  morning  walk  to  town  for 
the  day's  supplies. 

Always  exact,  always  in  a  hurry  —  knowing  as  he 
did  that  the  judge  would  not  leave  for  court  till 
his  return  —  he  had  never,  in  all  the  eight  years  she 
had  been  sitting  in  that  window  making  button-holes, 
shown  any  hesitation  in  his  methodical  relocking  of 
the  gate  and  subsequent  quick  departure. 

But  this  morning  he  had  neither  borne  himself 
with  his  usual  spirit  nor  moved  with  his  usual  promp- 
titude. Instead  of  stepping  at  once  into  the  lane, 
he  had  lingered  in  the  gate-way  peering  to  right  and 
left  and  pushing  the  gravel  aside  with  his  foot  in 
a  way  so  unlike  himself  that  the  moment  he  was  out 
of  sight,  she  could  not  help  running  down  the  lane 
to  see  if  her  suspicions  were  correct. 

And  they  were.  Not  only  had  he  left  the  gate 
unlocked,  but  he  had  done  so  purposely.  The  move- 
ment he  had  made  with  his  foot  had  been  done  for 
the  purpose  of  pushing  into  place  a  small  pebble, 
which,  as  all  could  see,  lay  where  it  would  best  pre- 
vent the  gate  from  closing. 


WAS  HE  LIVING  — WAS  HE  DEAD?     n 

What  could  such  treachery  mean,  and  what  was 
her  neighbourly  duty  under  circumstances  so  unpar- 
alleled? Should  she  go  away,  or  stop  and  take  one 
peep  just  to  see  that  there  really  was  another  and 
similar  fence  inside  of  this  one?  She  had  about  de- 
cided that  it  was  only  proper  for  her  to  enter  and 
make  sure  that  all  was  right  with  the  judge,  when 
she  experienced  that  peculiar  sense  of  being  watched 
with  which  all  of  us  are  familiar,  and  turning  quickly 
round,  saw  a  woman  looking  at  her  from  the  road, 
—  a  woman  all  in  purple  even  to  the  veil  which  hid 
her  features.  A  little  child  was  with  her,  and  the 
two  must  have  stepped  into  the  road  from  behind 
some  of  the  bushes,  as  neither  of  them  were  any- 
where in  sight  when  she  herself  came  running  down 
from  the  corner. 

It  was  enough  to  startle  any  one,  especially  as  the 
woman  did  not  speak  but  just  stood  silent  and  watch- 
ful till  Miss  Weeks  in  her  embarrassment  began  to 
edge  away  towards  home  in  the  hope  that  the  other 
would  follow  her  example  and  so  leave  the  place  free 
for  her  to  return  and  take  the  little  peep  she  had 
promised  herself. 

But  before  she  had  gone  far,  she  realised  that  the 
other  was  not  following  her,  but  was  still  standing 
in  the  same  spot,  watching  her  through  a  veil  the 
like  of  which  is  not  to  be  found  in  Shelby,  and  which 
in  itself  was  enough  to  rouse  a  decent  woman's  sus- 
picions. 

She  was  so  amazed  at  this  that  she  stepped  back 
and  attempted  to  address  the  stranger.  But  before 


12  DARK  HOLLOW 

she  had  got  much  further  than  a  timid  and  hesitat- 
ing Madam,  the  woman,  roused  into  action  pos- 
sibly by  her  interference,  made  a  quick  gesture  sug- 
gestive of  impatience  if  not  rebuke,  and  moving 
resolutely  towards  the  gate  Miss  Weeks  had  so 
indiscreetly  left  unguarded,  pushed  it  open  and 
disappeared  within,  dragging  the  little  child  after 
her. 

The  audacity  of  this  act,  perpetrated  without 
apology  before  Miss  Weeks'  very  eyes,  was  too 
much  for  that  lady's  equanimity.  She  stopped  stock- 
still,  and,  as  she  did  so,  beheld  the  gate  swing  heav- 
ily to  and  stop  an  inch  from  the  post,  hindered  as 
we  know  by  the  intervening  pebble.  She  had 
scarcely  got  over  the  shock  of  this  when  plainly  from 
the  space  beyond  she  heard  a  second  creaking  noise, 
then  the  swinging  to  of  another  gate,  followed,  after 
a  breathless  moment  of  intense  listening,  by  a  series 
of  more  distant  sounds,  which  could  only  be  ex- 
plained by  the  supposition  that  the  house  door  had 
been  reached,  opened  and  passed. 

"  And  you  didn't  follow?  " 

"  I  didn't  dare." 

"And  she's  in  there  still?" 

"  I  haven't  seen  her  come  out." 

"  Then  what's  the  matter  with  you?  "  called  out  a 
burly,  high-strung  woman,  stepping  hastily  from  the 
group  and  laying  her  hand  upon  the  gate  still  stand- 
ing temptingly  ajar.  "  It's  no  time  for  nonsense," 
she  announced,  as  she  pushed  it  open  and  stepped 
promptly  in,  followed  by  the  motley  group  of  men 


WAS  HE  LIVING  — WAS  HE  DEAD?      13 

and  women  who,  if  they  lacked  courage  to  lead,  cer- 
tainly showed  willingness  enough  to  follow. 

One  glance  and  they  felt  their  courage  rewarded. 

Rumour,  which  so  often  deceives,  proved  itself 
correct  in  this  case.  A  second  gate  confronted  them 
exactly  like  the  first  even  to  the  point  of  being  held 
open  by  a  pebble  placed  against  the  post.  And  a 
second  fence  also !  built  upon  the  same  pattern  as 
the  one  they  had  just  passed  through;  the  two  form- 
ing a  double  barrier  as  mysterious  to  contemplate 
in  fact  as  it  had  ever  been  in  fancy.  In  gazing  at 
these  fences  and  the  canyon-like  walk  stretching  be- 
tween them,  the  band  of  curious  invaders  forgot 
their  prime  errand.  Many  were  for  entering  this 
path  whose  terminus  they  could  not  see  for  the  sharp 
turns  it  took  in  rounding  either  corner.  Among 
them  was  a  couple  of  girls  who  had  but  one  thought, 
as  was  evinced  by  their  hurried  whispers.  "  If  it 
looks  like  this  in  the  daytime,  what  must  it  be  at 
night!"  To  which  came  the  quick  retort:  "I've 
heard  that  the  judge  walks  here.  Imagine  it  under 
the  moon !  " 

But  whatever  the  mysteries  of  the  place,  a  greater 
one  awaited  them  beyond,  and  presently  realising 
this,  they  burst  with  one  accord  through  the  second 
gate  into  the  mass  of  greenery,  which,  either  from 
neglect  or  intention,  masked  this  side  of  the  Ostran- 
der  homestead. 

Never  before  had  they  beheld  so  lawless  a  growth 
or  a  house  so  completely  lost  amid  vines  and  shrub- 
bery. So  unchecked  had  been  the  spread  of  verdure 


I4  DARK  HOLLOW 

from  base  to  chimney,  that  the  impression  made  by 
the  indistinguishable  mass  was  one  of  studied  se- 
crecy and  concealment.  Not  a  window  remained  in 
view,  and  had  it  not  been  for  some  chance  glimmers 
here  and  there  where  some  small,  unguarded  portion 
of  the  enshrouded  panes  caught  and  reflected  the 
sunbeams,  they  could  not  have  told  where  they  were 
located  in  these  once  well-known  walls. 

Two  solemn  fir  trees,  which  were  all  that  re- 
mained of  an  old-time  and  famous  group,  kept  guard 
over  the  untended  lawn,  adding  their  suggestion  of 
age  and  brooding  melancholy  to  the  air  of  desolation 
infecting  the  whole  place.  One  might  be  approach- 
ing a  tomb  for,  all  token  that  appeared  of  human 
presence.  Even  sound  was  lacking.  It  was  like  a 
painted  scene  —  a  dream  of  human  extinction. 

Instinctively  the  women  faltered  and  the  men 
drew  back;  then  the  very  silence  caused  a  sudden  re- 
action, and  with  one  simultaneous  rush,  they  made 
for  the  only  entrance  they  saw  and  burst  without 
further  ceremony  into  the  house. 

A  common  hall  and  common  furnishings  con- 
fronted them.  They  had  entered  at  the  side  and 
were  evidently  close  upon  the  kitchen.  More  they 
could  not  gather;  for  blocked  as  the  doorway  was  by 
their  crowding  figures,  the  little  light  which  sifted 
in  over  their  heads  was  not  enough  to  show  up  de- 
tails. 

But  it  was  even  darker  in  the  room  towards  which 
their  determined  leader  now  piloted  them.  Here 
there  was  no  light  at  all;  or  if  some  stray  glimmer 


WAS  HE  LIVING  — WAS  HE  DEAD?      15 

forced  its  way  through  the  network  of  leaves  swath- 
ing the  outer  walls,  it  was  of  too  faint  a  character 
to  reach  the  corners  or  even  to  make  the  furniture 
about  them  distinguishable. 

Halting  with  one  accord  in  what  seemed  to  be  the 
middle  of  the  uncarpeted  floor,  they  waited  for  some 
indication  of  a  clear  passageway  to  the  great  room 
where  the  judge  would  undoubtedly  be  found  in  con- 
versation with  his  strange  guest,  unless,  forewarned 
by  their  noisy  entrance,  he  should  have  risen  already 
to  meet  them.  In  that  case  they  might  expect  at  any 
minute  to  see  his  tall  form  emerging  in  anger  upon 
them  through  some  door  at  present  unseen. 

This  possibility,  new  to  some  but  recognised  from 
the  first  by  others,  fluttered  the  breasts  of  such  as 
were  not  quite  impervious  to  a  sense  of  their  own 
presumption,  and  as  they  stood  in  a  close  group, 
swaying  from  side  to  side  in  a  vain  endeavour  to  see 
their  way  through  the  gloom  before  them,  the  whim- 
per of  a  child  and  the  muttered  ejaculations  of  the 
men  testified  that  the  general  feeling  was  one  of  dis- 
content which  might  very  easily  end  in  an  outburst 
of  vociferous  expression. 

But  the  demon  of  curiosity  holds  fast  and  as  soon 
as  their  eyes  had  become  sufficiently  used  to  the  dark- 
ness to  notice  the  faint  line  of  light  marking  the  sill 
of  a  door  directly  in  front  of  them,  they  all  plunged 
forward  in  spite  of  the  fear  I  have  mentioned. 

The  woman  of  the  harsh  voice  and  self-satisfied 
demeanour,  who  had  started  them  upon  this  adven- 
ture, was  still  ahead;  but  even  she  quailed  when, 


1 6  DARK  HOLLOW 

upon  laying  her  hand  upon  the  panel  of  the  door 
she  was  the  first  to  reach,  she  felt  it  to  be  cold  and 
knew  it  to  be  made  not  of  wood  but  of  iron.  How 
great  must  be  the  treasure  or  terrible  the  secret 
to  make  necessary  such  extraordinary  precautions! 
Was  it  for  her  to  push  open  this  door,  and  so  come 
upon  discoveries  which  — 

But  here  her  doubts  were  cut  short  by  finding  her- 
self face  to  face  with  a  heavy  curtain  instead  of  a 
yielding  door.  The  pressure  of  the  crowd  behind 
had  precipitated  her  past  the  latter  into  a  small  vesti- 
bule which  acted  as  an  ante-chamber  to  the  very 
room  they  were  in  search  of. 

The  shock  restored  her  self-possession.  Bracing 
herself,  she  held  her  place  for  a  moment,  while  she 
looked  back,  with  a  finger  laid  on  her  lip.  The  light 
was  much  better  here  and  they  could  all  see  both 
the  move  she  made  and  the  expression  which  accom- 
panied it. 

"  Look  at  this !  "  she  whispered,  pushing  the  cur- 
tain inward  with  a  quick  movement. 

Her  hand  had  encountered  no  resistance.  There 
was  nothing  between  them  and  the  room  beyond  but 
a  bit  of  drapery. 

"  Now  hark,  all  of  you,"  fell  almost  soundlessly 
from  her  lips,  as  she  laid  her  own  ear  against  the 
curtain. 

And  they  hearkened. 

Not  a  murmur  came  from  within,  not  so  much  as 
the  faintest  rustle  of  clothing  or  the  flutter  of  a  with- 
held breath.  All  was  perfectly  still  —  too  still. 


WAS  HE  LIVING  — WAS  HE  DEAD?     17 

As  the  full  force  of  this  fact  impressed  itself  upon 
them,  a  blankness  served  over  their  features.  The 
significance  of  this  undisturbed  quiet  was  making  it- 
self felt.  If  the  two  w-re  there,  or  if  he  were  there 
alone,  they  would  certainly  hear  some  movement, 
voluntary  or  involuntary  —  and  they  could  hear 
nothing.  Was  the  woman  gone?  Had  she  found 
her  way  out  front  while  th-y  approached  from  the 
rear?  And  the  judge!  Was  he  gone  also?  —  this 
man  of  inalterable  habits  —  ^One  before  Bela's  re- 
turn —  a  thing  he  had  not  beer,  known  to  do  in  the 
last  twelve  years?  No,  no,  this  could  not  be.  Yet 
even  this  supposition  was  not  so  incredible  as  that 
he  should  still  be  here  and  silent.  Men  like  him  do 
not  hold  their  peace  under  a  provoca^on  so  great  as 
the  intrusion  of  a  mob  of  strangers  into  a  spot  where 
he  never  anticipated  seeing  anybody,  ncr  had  seen 
anybody  but  his  man  Bela  for  years.  *->on  they 
would  hear  his  voice.  It  was  not  in  nature  ur  him 
to  be  as  quiet  as  this  in  face  of  such  audacity. 

Yet  who  could  count  upon  the  actions  of  aM 
Ostrander,  or  reckon  with  the  imperious  whims  ol 
a  man  mysterious  beyond  all  precedent?  —  He  may 
be  there  but  silent,  or  — 

A  single  glance  would  settle  all. 

The  woman  drew  the  curtain. 

Sunshine !  A  stream  of  it,  dazzling  them  almost 
to  blindness  and  sending  them,  one  and  all,  pellmell 
back  upon  each  other!  However  dismal  the  ap- 
proach, here  all  was  in  brilliant  light  with  every  evi- 
dence before  them  of  busy  life. 


i8  DARK  HOLLOW 

The  room  was  not  only  filled,  but  crammed,  with 
furniture.  This  was  the  first  thing  they  noticed; 
then,  as  their  blinking  eyes  became  accustomed  to 
the' glare  and  to  the  unexperted  confusion  of  tables 
and  chairs  and  screens  and  standing  receptacles  for 
books  and  pamphlets  and  boxes  labelled -and  pad- 
locked, they  beheld  something  else;  something, 
which  once  seen,  held  the  eye  from  further  wander- 
ing and  made  the  apr'renensions  from  which  they 
had  suffered  sink  into  insignificance  before  a  real  and 
only  too  present  tertOr- 

The  judge  was  t-1ere !  but  in  what  a  condition. 

From  the  end  *t  the  forty  foot  room,  his  seated 
figure  confronted  them,  silent,  staring  and  unmov- 
ing.  With  cle  iched  fingers  gripping  the  arms  of  his 
great  chair,  and  head  held  forward,  he  looked  like 
one  frozen  at  the  moment  of  doom,  such  the  expres- 
sion of  ''eatures  usually  so  noble,  and  now  almost 
unrecrgnisable  were  it  not  for  the  snow  of  his  locks 
apr?  his  unmistakable  brow. 

Frozen !  Not  an  eyelash  quivered,  nor  was  there 
any  perceptible  movement  in  his  sturdy  chest.  His 
eyes  were  on  their  eyes,  but  he  saw  no  one;  and 
down  upon  his  head  and  over  his  whole  form  the 
sunshine  poured  from  a  large  window  let  into  the 
ceiling  directly  above  him,  lighting  up  the  strained 
and  unnatural  aspect  of  his  remarkable  countenance 
and  bringing  into  sharp  prominence  the  common- 
place objects  cluttering  the  table  at  his  elbow;  such 
as  his  hat  and  gloves,  and  the  bundle  of  papers  he 
had  doubtless  made  ready  for  court. 


WAS  HE  LIVING  — WAS  HE  DEAD?     19 

Was  he  living?  Was  he  dead?  —  stricken  by  the 
sight  of  so  many  faces  in  a  doorway  considered  sa- 
cred from  all  intrusion?  No!  the  emotion  capable 
of  thus  transforming  the  features  of  so  strong  a  man 
must  have  a  deeper  source  than  that.  The  woman 
was  to  blame  for  this  —  the  audacious,  the  unknown, 
the  mysteriously  clad  woman.  Let  her  be  found. 
Let  her  be  made  to  explain  herself  and  the  condition 
into  which  she  had  thrown  this  good  man. 

Indignation  burst  into  words,  and  pity  was  begin- 
ning to  voice  itself  in  inarticulate  murmurs  which 
swelled  and  ebbed,  now  louder,  now  more  faintly  as 
the  crowd  surged  forward  or  drew  back,  appalled 
by  that  moveless,  breathless,  awe-compelling  figure. 
Indignation  and  pity  were  at  their  height  when  the 
strain  which  held  them  all  in  one  common  leash  was 
loosed  by  the  movement  of  a  little  child. 

Attracted  possibly  by  what  it  did  not  understand, 
or  simply  made  fearless  because  of  its  non-compre- 
hension of  the  mystery  before  him,  a  curly-haired 
boy  suddenly  escaped  its  mother's  clutch,  and,  tod- 
dling up  by  a  pathway  of  his  own  to  the  awesome 
form  in  the  great  chair,  laid  his  little  hand  on  the 
judge's  rigid  arm  and,  looking  up  into  his  face,  bab- 
bled out: 

"Why  don't  you  get  up,  man?  I  like  oo  bet- 
ter up." 

A  breathless  moment;  then  the  horrified  murmur 
rose  here,  there  and  everywhere:  "He's  dead! 
He's  dead !  "  and  the  mother,  with  a  rush,  caught 
the  child  back,  and  confusion  began  its  reign,  when 


20  DARK  HOLLOW 

quietly  and  convincingly  a  bluff  and  masculine  voice 
spoke  from  the  doorway  behind  them  and  they 
heard: 

"  You  needn't  be  frightened.  In  an  hour  or  a 
half-hour  he  will  be  the  same  as  ever.  My  aunt  has 
such  attacks.  They  call  it  catalepsy." 


Ill 

BELA  THE  REDOUBTABLE 

CATALEPSY  ! 

A  dread  word  to  the  ignorant. 

Imperceptibly  the  crowd  dwindled;  the  most  dis- 
creet among  them  quite  content  to  leave  the  house; 
others,  with  their  curiosity  inflamed  anew,  to  poke 
about  and  peer  into  corners  and  curtained  recesses 
while  the  opportunity  remained  theirs  and  the  man 
of  whom  they  stood  in  fear  sat  lapsed  in  help- 
less unconsciousness.  A  few,  and  these  the  most 
thoughtful,  devoted  all  their  energies  to  a  serious 
quest  for  the  woman  and  child  whom  they  continued 
to  believe  to  be  in  hiding  somewhere  inside  the  walls 
she  had  so  audaciously  entered. 

Among  these  was  Miss  Weeks  whose  importance 
none  felt  more  than  herself,  and  it  was  at  her  in- 
sistence and  under  her  advice  (for  she  only,  of  all 
who  remained,  had  ever  had  a  previous  acquaintance 
with  the  house)  that  the  small  party  decided  to  start 
their  search  by  a  hasty  inspection  of  the  front  hall. 
As  this  could  not  be  reached  from  the  room  where 
its  owner's  motionless  figure  sat  at  its  grim  watch, 
they  were  sidling  hastily  out,  with  eyes  still  turned 
back  in  awful  fascination  upon  those  other  eyes 
which  seemed  to  follow  all  their  movements  and  yet 
gave  no  token  of  life,  when  a  shout  and  scramble  in, 

21 


22  DARK  HOLLOW 

the  passages  beyond  cut  short  their  intent  and  held 
them  panting  and  eager,  each  to  his  place. 

"They've  seen  her!  They've  found  her!"  ran 
in  quick,  whispered  suggestion  from  lip  to  lip,  and 
some  were  for  rushing  to  see. 

But  Miss  Weeks'  trim  and  precise  figure  blocked 
the  doorway,  and  she  did  not  move. 

"  Hark!  "  she  murmured  in  quick  admonishment; 
"what  is  that  other  sound?  Something  is  happen- 
ing—  something  dreadful.  What  is  it?  It  does 
not  seem  to  be  near  here  yet,  but  it  is  coming  —  com- 
ing." 

Frightened  in  spite  of  themselves,  both  by  her 
manner  and  tone,  they  drew  their  gaze  from  the 
rigid  figure  in  the  chair,  and,  with  bated  breaths  and 
rapidly  paling  cheeks,  listened  to  the  distant  murmur 
on  the  far-off  road,  plainly  to  be  heard  pulsing 
through  the  nearer  sounds  of  rushing  feet  and  chat- 
tering voices  in  the  rooms  about. 

What  was  it?  They  could  not  guess,  and  it  was 
with  unbounded  relief  they  pressed  forward  to  greet 
the  shadowy  form  of  a  young  girl  hurrying  towards 
them  from  the  rear,  with  news  in  her  face.  She 
spoke  quickly  and  before  Miss  Weeks  could  frame 
her  question. 

"  The  woman  is  gone.  Harry  Doane  saw  her 
sliding  out  behind  us  just  after  we  came  in.  She 
was  hiding  in  some  of  the  corners  here,  and  slipped 
out  by  the  kitchen-way  when  we  were  not  looking. 
He  has  gone  to  see^ — " 

But  interesting  as  this  was,  the  wonder  of  the 


BELA  THE  REDOUBTABLE    '        23 

now  rapidly  increasing  hubbub  was  more  so.  A 
mob  was  at  the  gates!  Men,  women  and  children 
shouting,  panting  and  making  loud  calls. 

Breathlessly  Miss  Weeks  cut  the  girl's  story  short; 
breathlessly  she  rushed  to  the  nearest  window,  and, 
helped  by  willing  hands,  succeeded  in  forcing  it  up 
and  tearing  a  hole  in  the  vines,  through  which  they 
one  and  all  looked  out  in  eager  excitement. 

A  motley  throng  of  people  were  crowding  in 
through  the  double  gateway.  Some  one  was  in  their 
grasp.  Was  it  the  woman?  No;  it  was  Belal 
Bela,  the  giant!  Bela,  the  terror  of  the  town,  but 
no  longer  a  terror  now  but  a  struggling,  half-fainting 
figure,  fighting  to  free  itself  and  get  in  advance,  de- 
spite some  awful  hurt  which  blanched  his  coal-black 
features  into  an  indescribable  hue  and  made  his  great 
limbs  falter  and  his  gasping  mouth  writhe  in  an- 
guish while  still  keeping  his  own  and  making  his 
way,  by  sheer  force  of  will,  up  the  path  and  the  two 
steps  of  entrance  —  his  body  alternately  sinking 
back  or  plunging  forward  as  those  in  the  rear  or 
those  in  front  got  the  upper  hand. 

It  was  an  awful  and  a  terrifying  sight  to  little  Miss 
Weeks  and,  screaming  loudly,  she  left  her  window 
and  ran,  scattering  her  small  party  before  her  like 
sheep,  not  into  the  near  refuge  of  the  front  hall  and 
its  quiet  parlours,  but  into  the  very  spot  towards 
•which  this  mob  seemed  headed  —  the  great  library 
pulsing  with  its  own  terror,  in  the  shape  of  the  yet 
speechless  and  unconscious  man  to  whom  the  loudest 
noise  and  the  most  utter  silence  were  yet  as  one,  and 


24  DARK  HOLLOW 

the  worst  struggle  of  human  passion  a  blank  lost  in 
unmeaning  chaos. 

Why  this  instinctive  move?  She  could  not  tell. 
Impulse  prevailed,  and  without  a  thought  she  flew 
into  Judge  Ostrander's  presence,  and,  gazing  wildly 
about,  wormed  her  way  towards  a  heavily  carved 
screen  guarding  a  distant  corner,  and  cowered  down 
behind  it. 

What  awaited  her? 

What  awaited  the  judge? 

As  the  little  woman  shook  with  terror  in  her  secret 
hiding-place  she  felt  that  she  had  played  him  false; 
that  she  had  no  right  to  save  herself  by  the  violation 
of  a  privacy  she  should  have  held  in  awe.  She  was 
paying  for  her  temerity  now,  paying  for  it  with 
every  terrible  moment  that  her  suspense  endured. 
The  gasping,  struggling  men,  the  frantic  negro,  were 
in  the  next  room  now  —  she  could  catch  the  sound 
of  the  latter's  panting  breath  rising  above  the  clam- 
our of  strange  entreaties  and  excited  cries  with 
which  the  air  was  full;  then  a  quick,  hoarse  shout  of 
"  Judge!  Judge!  "  rose  in  the  doorway,  and  she  be- 
came conscious  of  the  presence  of  a  headlong,  rush- 
ing force  struck  midway  into  silence  as  the  frozen 
figure  of  his  master  flashed  upon  the  negro's  eyes; 
—  then, —  a  growl  of  concentrated  emotion,  uttered 
almost  in  her  ear,  and  the  screen  which  had  been 
her  refuge  was  violently  thrust  away  from  before 
her,  and  in  its  place  she  beheld  a  terrible  being  stand- 
ing over  her,  in  whose  eyes,  dilating  under  this  fresh 
surprise,  she  beheld  her  doom,  even  while  recognis- 


BELA  THE  REDOUBTABLE  25 

ing  that  if  she  must  suffer  it  would  be  simply  as  an 
obstacle  to  some  goal  at  her  back  which  he  must 
reach  —  now  —  before  he  fell  in  his  blood  and  died. 

What  was  this  goal?  As  she  felt  herself  lifted, 
nay,  almost  hurled  aside,  she  turned  to  see  and  found 
it  to  be  a  door  before  which  the  devoted  Bela  had 
now  thrown  himself,  guarding  it  with  every  inch  of 
his  powerful  but  rapidly  sinking  body,  and  chatter- 
ing defiance  with  his  bloodless,  quivering  lips  —  a 
figure  terrible  in  anger,  sublime  in  purpose,  and 
piteous  in  its  failing  energies. 

"Back!  all  of  you!"  he  cried,  and  stopped, 
clutching  at  the  door-casing  on  either  side  to  hold 
himself  erect.  "  You  cannot  come  in  here.  This  is 
the  judge's  — " 

Not  even  his  iron  resolve  or  once  unequalled  phy- 
sique could  stand  the  sapping  of  the  terrible  gash 
which  disfigured  his  forehead.  He  had  been  run 
over  by  an  automobile  in  a  moment  of  blind  ab- 
straction, and  his  hurt  was  mortal.  But  though  his 
tongue  refused  to  finish,  his  eye  still  possessed  its 
power  to  awe  and  restrain.  Though  the  crowd  had 
followed  him  almost  into  the  centre  of  the  room, 
they  felt  themselves  held  back  by  the  spirit  of  this 
man,  who  as  long  as  he  lived  and  breathed  would 
hold  himself  a  determined  barrier  between  them  and 
what  he  had  been  set  to  guard. 

As  long  as  he  lived  and  breathed.  Alas!  that 
would  be  but  a  little  while  now.  Already  his  head, 
held  erect  by  the  passion  of  his  purpose,  was  sinking 
on  his  breast;  already  his  glazing  eye  was  losing  its 


26  DARK  HOLLOW 

power  of  concentration,  when  with  a  final  rally  of 
his  decaying  strength,  he  started  erect  again  and 
cried  out  in  terrible  appeal: 

"  I  have  disobeyed  the  judge,  and,  as  you  see,  it 
has  killed  him.  Do  not  make  me  guilty  of  giving 
away  his  secret.  Swear  that  you  will  leave  this  door 
unpassed;  swear  that  no  one  but  his  son  shall  ever 
turn  this  lock;  or  I  will  haunt  you,  I,  Bela,  man  by 
man,  till  you  sink  in  terror  to  your  graves.  Swear ! 
sw— " 

,  The  last  adjuration  ended  in  a  moan.  His  head 
fell  forward  again  and  in  that  intense  moment  of 
complete  silence  they  could  hear  the  splash  of  his 
life-blood  as  it  dropped  from  his  forehead  on  to  the 
polished  boards  beneath;  then  he  threw  up  his  arms 
and  fell  in  a  heap  to  the  floor. 

They  had  not  been  driven  to  answer.  Wherever 
that  great  soul  had  gone,  his  ears  were  no  longer 
open  to  mortal  promise,  nor  would  any  oath  from 
the  lip  of  man  avail  to  smooth  his  way  into  the 
shadowy  unknown. 

"  Dead!  "  broke  from  little  Miss  Weeks  as  she 
flung  herself  down  in  reckless  abandonment  at  his 
side.  She  had  never  known  an  agitation  beyond 
some  fluttering  woman's  hope  she  had  stifled  as  soon 
as  born,  and  now  she  knelt  in  blood.  "Dead!" 
she  again  repeated.  And  there  was  no  one  this  time 
to  cry:  "  You  need  not  be  frightened;  in  a  few  min- 
utes he  will  be  himself  again."  The  master  might 
reawaken  to  life,  but  never  more  the  man. 

A  solemn  hush,  then  a  mighty  sigh  of  accumulated 


BELA  THE  REDOUBTABLE  17 

emotion  swept  from  lip  to  lip,  and  the  crowd  of  later 
invaders,  already  abashed  if  not  terrified  by  the  un- 
expected spectacle  of  suspended  animation  which 
confronted  them  from  the  judge's  chair,  shrank  tu- 
multuously  back  as  little  Miss  Weeks  advanced  upon 
them,  holding  out  her  meagre  arms  in  late  defence 
of  the  secret  to  save  wjbich  she  had  just  seen  a  man 
die. 

"  Let  us  do  as  he  wished,"  she  prayed.  "  I  feel 
myself  much  to  blame.  What  right  had  we  to  come 
in  here?" 

"  The  fellow  was  hurt.  We  were  just  bringing 
him  home,"  spoke  up  a  voice,  rough  with  the  sur- 
prise of  unaccustomed  feeling.  "  If  he  had  let  us 
carry  him,  he  might  have  been  alive  this  minute ;  but 
he  would  run  and  struggle  to  keep  us  back.  He 
says  he  killed  his  master.  If  so,  his  death  is  a  retri- 
bution- Don't  you  say  so,  fellows?  The  judge 
was  a  good  man  — " 

"  Hush !  hush !  the  judge  is  all  right,"  admonished 
one  of  the  party;  "  he'll  be  waking  up  soon  ";  and 
then,  as  every  eye  flew  in  fresh  wonder  towards  the 
chair  and  its  impassive  occupant,  the  low  whisper 
was  heard, —  no  one  ever  could  tell  from  whose  lips 
it  fell:  "If  we  are  ever  to  know  this  wonderful 
secret,  now  is  the  time,  before  he  wakes  and  turns  us 
out  of  the  house." 

No  one  in  authority  was  present;  no  one  repre- 
senting the  law,  not  even  a  doctor;  only  haphazard 
persons  from  the  street  and  a  few  neighbours  who 
had  not  been  on  social  terms  with  the  judge  for 


28  DARK  HOLLOW 

years  and  never  expected  to  be  so  again.  His  se- 
cret!—  always  a  source  of  wonder  to  every  inhab- 
itant of  Shelby,  but  lifted  now  into  a  matter  of  vital 
importance  by  the  events  of  the  day  and  the  tragic 
death  of  the  negro!  Were  they  to  miss  its  solu- 
tion, when  only  a  door  lay  between  it  and  them 
—  a  door  which  they  might  not  even  have  to 
unlock?  If  the  judge  should  rouse, —  if  from  a 
source  of  superstitious  terror  he  became  an  active 
one,  how  pat  their  excuse  might  be.  They  were 
but  seeking  a  proper  place  —  a  couch  —  a  bed  — 
on  which  to  lay  the  dead  man.  They  had  been  wit- 
ness to  his  hurt;  they  had  been  witness  to  his  death, 
and  were  they  to  leave  him  lying  in  his  blood,  to 
shock  the  eyes  of  his  master  when  he  came  out  of  his 
long  swoon?  No  tongue  spoke  these  words,  but 
the  cunning  visible  in  many  an  eye  and  the  slight 
start  made  by  more  than  one  eager  foot  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  forbidden  door  gave  Miss  Weeks  suffi- 
cient warning  of  what  she  might  expect  in  another 
moment.  Making  the  most  of  her  diminutive  fig- 
ure,—  such  a  startling  contrast  to  the  one  which  had 
just  dominated  there !  —  she  was  about  to  utter  an 
impassioned  appeal  to  their  honour,  when  the  cur- 
rent of  her  and  their  thoughts,  as  well  as  the  direc- 
tion of  ah1  looks,  was  changed  by  a  sudden  sense 
common  to  all,  of  some  strange  new  influence  at 
work  in  the  room,  and  turning,  they  beheld  the  judge 
upon  his  feet,  his  mind  awakened,  but  his  eyes  still 
fixed  —  an  awesome  figure;  some  thought  more  awe- 
some than  before ;  for  the  terror  which  still  held  him 


BELA  THE  REDOUBTABLE  29 

removed  from  all  about,  was  no  longer  passive  but 
active  and  had  to  do  with  what  no  man  there  could 
understand  or  alleviate.  Death  was  present  with 
them  —  he  saw  it  not.  Strangers  were  making 
havoc  with  his  solitude  —  he  was  as  oblivious  of 
their  presence  as  he  had  been  unconscious  of  it  be- 
fore. His  faculties  and  all  his  attention  were  ab- 
sorbed by  the  thought  which  had  filled  his  brain 
when  the  cogs  of  that  subtle  mechanism  had  slipped 
and  his  faculties  paused  inert. 

This  was  shown  by  his  first  question : 

"Where  is  the  woman?" 

It  was  a  cry  of  fear;  not  of  mastery. 


IV 

11  AND  WHERE  WAS  I  WHEN  ALL  THIS  HAPPENED?  " 

THE  intensity  of  the  question,  the  compelling,  self- 
forgetful  passion  of  the  man,  had  a  startling  effect 
upon  the  crowd  of  people  huddled  before  him. 
With  one  accord,  and  without  stopping  to  pick  their 
way,  they  made  for  the  open  doorway,  knocking  the 
smaller  pieces  of  furniture  about  and  creating  havoc 
generally.  Some  fled  the  house;  others  stopped  to 
peer  in  again  from  behind  the  folds  of  the  curtain 
which  had  been  only  partially  torn  from  its  fasten- 
ings. Miss  Weeks  was  the  only  one  to  stand  her 
ground. 

When  the  room  was  quite  cleared  and  the  noise 
abated  (it  was  a  frightful  experience  to  see  how 
little  the  judge  had  been  affected  by  all  this  hubbub 
of  combined  movement  and  sound),  she  stepped 
within  the  line  of  his  vision  and  lifted  her  feeble  and 
ineffectual  hand  in  an  effort  to  attract  his  attention 
to  herself. 

But  he  did  not  notice  her,  any  more  than  he  had 
noticed  the  others.  Still  looking  in  the  one  direc- 
tion, he  cried  aloud  in  troubled  tones: 

"  She  stood  there !  the  woman  stood  there  and  I 
saw  her  1  Where  is  she  now?  " 

"  She  is  no  longer  in  the  house,"  came  in  gentle 
reply  from  the  only  one  in  or  out  of  the  room 
courageous  enough  to  speak.  "  She  went  out  whe» 
30 


"AND  WHERE  WAS  I?"  31 

she  saw  us  coming.  We  knew  that  she  had  no  right 
to  be  here.  That  is  why  we  intruded  ourselves,  sir. 
We  did  not  like  the  looks  of  her,  and  so  followed 
her  in  to  prevent  mischief." 

"Ah!" 

The  expletive  fell  unconsciously.  He  seemed  to 
be  trying  to  adjust  himself  to  some  mental  experi- 
ence he  could  neither  share  with  others  nor  explain 
to  himself. 

"She  was  here,  then?  —  a  woman  with  a  little 
child?  It  wasn't  an  illusion,  a — ."  Memory  was 
coming  back  and  with  it  a  realisation  of  his  position. 
Stopping  short,  he  gazed  down  from  his  great  height 
upon  the  trembling  little  body  of  whose  identity  he 
had  but  a  vague  idea,  and  thundered  out  in  great 
indignation : 

"  How  dared  you !  How  dared  she !  "  Then  as 
his  mind  regained  its  full  poise,  "  And  how,  even  if 
you  had  the  temerity  to  venture  an  entrance  here, 
did  you  manage  to  pass  my  gates  ?  They  are  never 
open.  Bela  sees  to  that." 

Bela! 

He  may  have  observed  the  pallor  which  blanched 
her  small,  tense  features  as  this  name  fell  so  natu- 
rally from  his  lips,  or  some  instinct  of  his  own  may 
have  led  him  to  suspect  tragedy  where  all  was  so 
abnormally  still,  for,  as  she  watched,  she  saw  his 
eyes,  fixed  up  to  now  upon  her  face,  leave  it  and 
pass  furtively  and  with  many  hesitations  from  object 
to  object,  towards  that  spot  behind  him,  where  lay 
the  source  of  her  great  terror,  if  not  of  his.  So 


32  DARK  HOLLOW 

lingeringly  and  with  such  dread  was  this  done,  that 
she  could  barely  hold  back  her  weak  woman's  scream 
in  the  intensity  of  her  suspense.  She  knew  just 
where  his  glances  fell  without  following  them  with 
her  own.  She  saw  them  pass  the  door  where  so 
many  faces  yet  peered  in  (he  saw  them  not),  and 
creep  along  the  wall  beyond,  inch  by  inch,  breath- 
lessly and  with  dread,  till  finally,  with  fatal  preci- 
sion, they  reached  the  point  where  the  screen  had 
stood,  and  not  finding  it,  flew  in  open  terror  to  the 
door  it  was  set  there  to  conceal  —  when  that  some- 
thing else,  huddled  in  oozing  blood,  on  the  floor 
beneath,  drew  them  unto  itself  with  the  irresistible- 
ness  of  grim  reality,  and  he  forgot  all  else  in  the 
horror  of  a  sight  for  which  his  fears,  however  great, 
had  failed  to  prepare  him. 

Dead!  Beta!  Dead!  and  lying  in  his  blood! 
The  rest  may  have  been  no  dream,  but  this  was 
surely  one,  or  his  eyes,  used  to  inner  visions,  were 
playing  him  false. 

Grasping  the  table  at  his  side  to  steady  his  failing 
limbs,  he  pulled  himself  along  by  its  curving  edge 
till  he  came  almost  abreast  of  the  helpless  figure 
which  for  so  many  years  had  been  the  embodiment 
of  faithful  and  unwearied  service. 

Then  and  then  only,  did  the  truth  of  his  great 
misfortune  burst  upon  his  bewildered  soul ;  and  with 
a  cry  which  tore  the  ears  of  all  hearers  and  was 
never  forgotten  by  any  one  there,  he  flung  himself 
down  beside  the  dead  negro,  and,  turning  him  hastily 
over,  gazed  in  his  face. 


"AND  WHERE  WAS  I?"  33 

Was  that  a  sob?  Yes;  thus  much  the  heart  gave; 
but  next  moment  the  piteous1  fact  of  loss  was  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  recognition  of  its  manner,  and, 
bounding  to  his  feet  with  the  cry,  "  Killed !  Killed 
at  his  post!  "  he  confronted  the  one  witness  of  his 
anguish  of  whose  presence  he  was  aware,  and  fiercely 
demanded:  "Where  are  the  wretches  who  have 
done  this?  No  single  arm  could  have  knocked  down 
Bela.  He  has  been  set  upon  —  beaten  with  clubs, 
and — "  Here  his  thought  was  caught  up  by  an- 
other, and  that  one  so  fearsome  and  unsettling  that 
bewilderment  again  followed  rage,  and  with  the  look 
of  a  haunted  spirit,  he  demanded  in  a  voice  made 
low  by  awe  and  dread  of  its  own  sound,  "  and 
where  was  I,  when  all  this  happened?  " 

"You?  You  were  seated  there,"  murmured  the 
little  woman,  pointing  at  the  great  chair.  "  You 
were  not  —  quite  —  quite  yourself,"  she  softly  ex- 
plained, wondering  at  her  own  composure.  Then 
quickly,  as  she  saw  his  thoughts  revert  to  the  dead 
friend  at  his  feet,  "  Bela  was  not  hurt  here.  He  was 
down  town  when  it  happened;  but  he  managed  to 
struggle  home  and  gain  this  place,  which  he  tried 
to  hold  against  the  men  who  followed  him.  He 
thought  you  were  dead,  you  sat  there  so  rigid  and 
so  white,  and,  before  he  quite  gave  up,  he  asked  us 
all  to  promise  not  to  let  any  one  enter  this  room  till 
your  son  Oliver  came." 

Understanding  partly,  but  not  yet  quite  clear  in 
his  mind,  the  judge  sighed,  and  stooping  again, 
straightened  the  faithful  negro's  limbs.  Then,  with 


34  DARK  HOLLOW 

a  sidelong  look  in  her  direction,  he  felt  in  one  of  the 
pockets  of  the  dead  negro's  coat,  and  drawing  out 
a  small  key,  held  it  in  one  hand  while  he  fumbled 
in  his  own  for  another,  which  found,  he  became  on 
the  instant  his  own  man  again. 

Miss  Weeks,  seeing  the  difference  in  him,  and 
seeing  too,  that  the  doorway  was  now  clear  of  the 
wondering,  awestruck  group  which  had  previously 
blocked  it,  bowed  her  slight  body  and  proceeded  to 
withdraw;  but  the  judge,  staying  her  by  a  gesture, 
she  waited  patiently  near  one  of  the  book-racks 
against  which  she  had  stumbled,  to  hear  what  he 
had  to  say. 

41 1  must  have  had  an  attack  of  some  kind,"  he 
calmly  remarked.  "  Will  you  be  good  enough  to 
explain  exactly  what  occurred  here  that  I  may  more 
fully  comprehend  my  own  misfortune  and  the  death 
of  this  faithful  friend?  " 

Then  she  saw  that  his  faculties  were  now  fully 
restored,  and  came  a  step  forward.  But  before  she 
could  begin  her  story,  he  added  this  searching  ques- 
tion: 

"  Was  it  he  who  let  you  in  —  you  and  others  —  I 
think  you  said  others?  Was  it  he  who  unlocked 
my  gates  ?  " 

Miss  Weeks  sighed  and  betrayed  fluster.  It  was 
not  easy  to  relate  her  story;  besides  it  was  wofully 
incomplete.  She  knew  nothing  of  what  had  hap- 
pened down  town,  she  could  only  tell  what  had 
passed  before  her  eyes.  But  there  was  one  thing 
she  could  make  clear,  to  him,  and  that  was  how  the 


"AND  WHERE  WAS  I?"  35 

seemingly  impassable  gates  had  been  made  ready  for 
the  woman's  entrance  and  afterwards  taken  such  ad- 
vantage of  by  herself  and  others.  A  pebble  had 
done  it  all, —  a  pebble  placed  in  the  gateway  by 
Bela's  hands. 

As  she  described  this,  and  insisted  upon  the  fact 
in  face  of  the  judge's  almost  frenzied  disclaimer,  she 
thought  she  saw  the  hair  move  on  his  forehead. 
Bela  a  traitor,  and  in  the  interests  of  the  woman  who 
had  fronted  him  from  the  other  end  of  the  room  at 
the  moment  consciousness  had  left  him!  Evidently 
this  intrusive  little  body  did  not  know  Bela  or  his 
story,  or — 

Why  should  interruption  come  then?  Why  was 
he  stopped,  when  in  the  passion  of  the  moment,  he 
might  have  let  fall  some  word  of  enlightenment 
which  would  have  eased  the  agitated  curiosity  of 
the  whole  town!  Miss  Weeks  often  asked  herself 
this  question,  and  bewailed  the  sudden  access  of 
sounds  in  the  rooms  without,  which  proclaimed  the 
entrance  of  the  police  and  put  a  new  strain  upon 
the  judge's  faculty  of  self-control  and  attention  to 
the  one  matter  in  hand. 

The  commonplaces  of  an  official  inquiry  were 
about  to  supersede  the  play  of  a  startled  spirit  strug- 
gling with  a  problem  of  whose  complexities  he  had 
received  but  a  glimpse. 


THE  library  again!  but  how  changed!  Evening 
light  now  instead  of  blazing  sunshine;  and  evening 
light  so  shaded  that  the  corners  seemed  far  and  the 
many  articles  of  furniture,  cumbering  the  spaces  be- 
tween, larger  for  the  shadows  in  which  they  stood 
hidden.  Perhaps  the  man  who  sat  there  in  company 
with  the  judge  regretted  this.  Perhaps,  he  would 
have  preferred  to  see  more  perfectly  that  portion 
of  the  room  where  Bela  had  taken  his  stand  and 
finally  fallen.  It  would  have  been  interesting  to 
note  whether  the  screen  had  been  replaced  before 
the  mysterious  door  which  this  most  devoted  of  serv- 
ants had  protected  to  his  last  gasp.  Curiosity  is 
admissible,  even  in  a  man,  when  the  cause  is  really 
great. 

But  from  the  place  where  he  sat  there  was  no 
getting  any  possible  view  of  that  part  of  the  wall  or 
of  anything  connected  with  it;  and  so,  with  every 
appearance  of  satisfaction  at  being  allowed  in  the 
room  at  all,  Sergeant  Doolittle  from  Headquarters, 
drank  the  judge's  wine  and  listened  for  the  judge's 
commands. 

These  were  slow  in  coming,  and  they  were  unex- 
pected when  they  came. 

"  Sergeant,  I  have  lost  a  faithful  servant  under 
36 


"  SHE  WORE  PURPLE  "  37 

circumstances  which  have  called  an  unfortunate  at- 
tention to  my  house.  I  should  like  to  have  this  place 
guarded  —  carefully  guarded,  you  understand  — 
from  any  and  all  intrusion  till  I  can  look  about  me 
and  secure  protection  of  my  own.  May  I  rely  upon 
the  police  to  do  this,  beginning  to-night  at  an  early 
hour?  There  are  loiterers  already  at  the  corner 
and  in  front  of  the  two  gates.  I  am  not  accustomed 
to  these  attentions,  and  ask  to  have  my  fence 
cleared." 

"  Two  men  are  already  detailed  for  the  job,  your 
honour.  I  heard  the  order  given  just  as  I  left  Head- 
quarters." 

The  judge  showed  small  satisfaction.  Indeed,  in 
his  silence  there  was  the  hint  of  something  like  dis- 
pleasure. This  surprised  Sergeant  Doolittle  and  led 
him  to  attempt  to  read  its  cause  in  his  host's  coun- 
tenance. But  the  shade  of  the  lamp  intervened 
too  completely,  and  he  had  to  be  content  to  wait 
till  the  judge  chose  to  speak,  which  he  presently 
did,  though  not  in  the  exact  tones  the  Sergeant  ex- 
pected. 

"Two  men!  Couldn't  I  have  three?  One  for 
each  gate  and  one  to  patrol  the  fence  separating 
these  grounds  from  the  adjoining  lot?" 

The  sergeant  hesitated;  he  felt  an  emotion  of 
wonder  —  a  sense  of  something  more  nearly  ap- 
proaching the  uncanny  than  was  usual  to  his  matter- 
of-fact  mind.  He  had  heard,  often  enough,  what 
store  the  judge  set  on  his  privacy  and  of  the  ex- 
traordinary measures  he  had  taken  to  insure  it,  but 


38  DARK  HOLLOW 

that  a  man,  even  if  he  aped  the  hermit,  should  con- 
sider three  men  necessary  to  hold  the  public  away 
from  a  two  hundred  and  fifty  foot  lot  argued  appre- 
hensions of  a  character  verging  on  the  ridiculous. 
But  he  refrained  from  expressing  his  surprise  and 
replied,  after  a  minute  of  thought: 

"  If  two  men  are  not  enough  to  ensure  you  a  quiet 
sleep,  you  shall  have  three  or  four  or  even  more, 
Judge  Ostrander.  Do  you  want  one  of  them  to  stay 
inside  ?  That  might  do  the  business  better  than  a 
dozen  out." 

"  No.  While  Bela  lies  above  ground,  we  want 
no  third  here.  When  he  is  buried,  I  may  call  upon 
you  for  a  special  to  watch  my  room  door.  But  it's 
of  outside  protection  we're  talking  now.  Only,  who 
is  to  protect  me  against  your  men?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  your  honour?  " 

"They  are  human,  are  they  not?  They  have 
instincts  of  curiosity  like  the  rest  of  us.  How  can  I 
be  made  sure  that  they  won't  yield  to  the  temptation 
of  their  position  and  climb  the  fences  they  are  de- 
tailed to  guard  ?  " 

"  And  would  this  be  so  fatal  to  your  peace, 
judge?  "  A  smile  tempered  the  suggestion. 

"  It  would  be  a  breach  of  trust  which  would 
greatly  disturb  me.  I  want  nobody  on  my  grounds, 
nobody  at  all.  Has  not  my  long  life  of  solitude 
within  these  walls  sufficiently  proved  this?  I  want 
to  feel  that  these  men  of  yours  would  no  more  climb 
my  fence  than  they  would  burst  into  my  house  with- 
out a  warrant." 


"  SHE  WORE  PURPLE  "  39 

**  Judge,  I  will  be  one  of  the  men.  You  can  trust 
me." 

"  Thank  you,  sergeant;  I  appreciate  the  favour. 
I  shall  rest  now  as  quietly  as  any  man  can  who  has 
met  with  a  great  loss.  The  coroner's  inquiry  has 
decided  that  the  injuries  which  Bela  received  in  the 
street  were  of  a  fatal  character  and  would  have 
killed  him  within  an  hour,  even  if  he  had  not  ex- 
hausted his  strength  in  the  effort  he  made  to  return 
to  his  home  and  die  in  my  presence.  But  I  shall 
always  suffer  from  regret  that  I  was  not  in  a  con- 
dition to  receive  his  last  sigh.  He  was  a  man  in  a 
thousand.  One  seldom  sees  his  like  among  white  or 
black." 

"  He  was  a  very  powerfully  built  man.  It  took 
a  sixty  horse-power  racing  machine,  going  at  a  high 
rate  of  speed,  to  kill  him." 

A  spasm  of  grief  or  unavailing  regret  crossed  the 
judge's  face  as  his  head  sank  back  again  against  the 
high  back  of  his  chair. 

"Enough,"  said  he;  "tread  softly  when  you  go 
by  the  sofa  on  which  he  lies.  Will  you  fill  your 
glass  again,  sergeant?" 

The  sergeant  declined. 

"  Not  if  my  watch  is  to  be  effective  to-night,"  he 
smiled,  and  rose  to  depart. 

The  judge,  grown  suddenly  thoughtful,  rapped 
with  his  finger-tips  on  the  table-edge.  He  had  not 
yet  risen  to  show  his  visitor  out. 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  a  question,"  he  finally  ob- 
served, motioning  the  other  to  re-seat  himself. 


40  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  You  were  not  at  the  inquiry  this  afternoon,  and 
may  not  know  that  just  as  Bela  and  the  crowd  about 
him  turned  this  corner,  they  ran  into  a  woman  lead- 
ing a  small  child,  who  stopped  the  whole  throng  in 
order  to  address  him.  No  one  heard  what  she  said ; 
and  no  one  could  give  any  information  as  to  who 
she  was  or  in  what  direction  she  vanished.  But  I 
saw  that  woman  myself,  earlier.  She  was  in  this 
house.  She  was  in  this  room.  She  came  as  far  as 
that  open  space  just  inside  the  doorway.  I  can 
describe  her,  and  will,  if  you  will  consent  to  look 
for  her.  It  is  to  be  a  money  transaction,  sergeant, 
and  if  she  is  found  and  no  stir  made  and  no  talk 
started  among  the  Force,  I  will  pay  all  that  you  think 
it  right  to  demand." 

"  Let  me  hear  her  description,  your  honour." 
The  judge,  who  had  withdrawn  into  the  shadow, 
considered  for  a  moment,  then  said: 

"  I  cannot  describe  her  features,  for  she  was 
heavily  veiled;  neither  can  I  describe  her  figure  ex- 
cept to  say  that  she  is  tall  and  slender.  But  her 
dress  I  remember  to  the  last  detail,  though  I  am  not 
usually  so  observant.  She  wore  purple;  not  an  old 
woman's  purple,  but  a  soft  shade  which  did  not  take 
from  her  youth.  There  was  something  floating 
round  her  shoulders  of  the  same  colour,  and  on  her 
arms  were  long  gloves  such  as  you  see  our  young 
ladies  wear.  The  child  did  not  seem  to  belong  to 
her,  though  she  held  her  tightly  by  the  hand.  I 
mean  by  that,  that  its  clothes  were  of  a  coarser  ma- 
terial than  hers  and  perhaps  were  a  little  soiled.  If 


"  SHE  WORE  PURPLE  "  41 

the  child  wore  a  hat,  I  do  not  remember  it.  In  age 
it  appeared  to  be  about  six  —  or  that  was  the  im- 
pression I  received  before  — " 

The  sergeant,  who  had  been  watching  the  speaker 
very  closely,  leaned  forward  with  a  hasty,  inquiring 
glance  expressive  of  something  like  consternation. 
Was  the  judge  falling  again  into  unconsciousness? 
Was  he  destined  to  witness  in  this  solitary  meeting 
a  return  of  the  phenomenon  which  had  so  startled 
the  intruding  populace  that  morning? 

No,  or  if  he  had  been  witness  to  something  of  the 
kind,  it  was  for  a  moment  only;  for  the  eyes  which 
had  gone  blank  had  turned  his  way  again,  and  only 
a  disconnected  expression  which  fell  from  the  judge's 
lips,  showed  that  his  mind  had  been  wandering. 

"  It's  not  the  same  but  another  one;  that's  all." 

Inconsequent  words,  but  the  sergeant  meant  to 
remember  them,  for  with  their  utterance,  a  change 
passed  over  the  judge;  and  his  manner,  which  had 
been  constrained  and  hurried  during  his  attempted 
description,  became  at  once  more  natural,  and  there- 
fore more  courteous. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  find  her  with  such  insuffi- 
cient data?  A  woman  dressed  in  purple,  leading  a 
little  child  without  any  hat?  " 

"  Judge,  I  not  only  feel  sure  that  I  can  find  her, 
but  I  think  she  is  found  already.  Do  you  remember 
the  old  tavern  on  the  Rushville  road?  I  believe 
they  call  it  an  inn  now,  or  some  such  fancy  name." 

The  judge  sat  quiet,  but  the  sergeant  who  dared 
not  peer  too  closely,  noticed  a  sudden  constriction 


42  DARK  HOLLOW 

in  the  fingers  of  the  hand  with  which  his  host  fingered 
a  paper-cutter  lying  on  the  table  between  them. 

"  The  one  where  — " 

"  I  respect  your  hesitation,  judge.  Yes,  the  one 
run  by  the  man  you  sentenced  — " 

A  gesture  had  stopped  him.  He  waited  respect- 
fully for  the  judge's  next  words. 

They  came  quickly  and  with  stern  and  solemn 
emphasis. 

"  For  a  hideous  and  wholly  unprovoked  crime. 
Why  do  you  mention  it  and  —  and  his  tavern?" 

"  Because  of  something  I  have  lately  heard  in  its 
connection.  You  know  that  the  old  house  has  been 
all  made  over  since  that  time  and  run  as  a  place  of 
resort  for  automobilists  in  search  of  light  refresh- 
ments. The  proprietor's  name  is  Yardley.  We 
have  nothing  against  him;  the  place  is  highly  re- 
spectable. But  it  harbours  a  boarder,  a  permanent 
one,  I  believe,  who  has  occasioned  no  little  comment. 
No  one  has  ever  seen  her  face;  unless  it  is  the  land- 
lord's wife.  She  has  all  her  meals  served  in  her 
room,  and  when  she  goes  out  she  wears  the  purple 
dress  and  purple  veil  you've  been  talking  about. 
Perhaps  she's  your  visitor  of  to-day.  Hadn't  I  bet- 
ter find  out? " 

"Has  she  a  child?     Is  she  a  mother?" 

"  I  haven't  heard  of  any  child,  but  Mrs.  Yardley 
has  seven." 

The  judge's  hand  withdrew  from  the  table  and 
for  an  instant  the  room  was  so  quiet  that  you  could 
hear  some  far-off  clock  ticking  out  the  minutes. 


"  SHE  WORE  PURPLE  "  43 

Then  Judge  Ostrander  rose  and  in  a  peremptory 
tone  said : 

"  To-morrow.  After  you  hear  from  me  again. 
Make  no  move  to-night.  Let  me  feel  that  all  your 
energies  are  devoted  to  securing  my  privacy." 

The  sergeant,  who  had  sprung  to  his  feet  at  the 
same  instant  as  the  judge,  cast  a  last  look  about  him, 
curiosity  burning  in  his  heart  and  a  sort  of  desperate 
desire  to  get  all  he  could  out  of  his  present  oppor- 
tunity. For  he  felt  absolutely  sure  that  he  would 
never  be  allowed  to  enter  this  room  again. 

But  the  arrangement  of  light  was  such  as  to  hold 
in  shadow  all  but  the  central  portion  of  the  room; 
and  this  central  portion  held  nothing  out  of  the  com- 
mon—  nothing  to  explain  the  mysteries  of  the  dwel- 
ling or  the  apprehensions  of  its  suspicious  owner. 
With  a  sigh,  the  sergeant  dropped  his  eyes  from  the 
walls  he  could  barely  distinguish,  and  following 
Judge  Ostrander's  lead,  passed  with  him  under  the 
torn  folds  of  the  curtain  and  through  the  narrow 
vestibule  whose  door  was  made  of  iron,  into  the 
room,  where,  in  a  stronger  blaze  of  light  than  they 
had  left,  lay  the  body  of  the  dead  negro  awaiting 
the  last  rites. 

Would  the  judge  pass  this  body,  or  turn  away 
from  it  towards  a  door  leading  front?  The  ser- 
geant had  come  in  at  the  rear,  but  he  greatly  desired 
to  go  out  front,  as  this  would  give  him  so  much  ad- 
ditional knowledge  of  the  house.  Unexpectedly  to 
himself,  the  judge's  intentions  were  in  the  direction 
of  his  own  wishes.  He  was  led  front;  and,  enter- 


44  DARK  HOLLOW 

ing  an  old-fashioned  hall  dimly  lighted,  passed  a 
staircase  and  two  closed  doors,  both  of  which  gave 
him  the  impression  of  having  been  shut  upon  a  past 
it  had  pleasured  no  one  to  revive  in  many  years. 

Beyond  them  was  the  great  front  door  of  Colonial 
style  and  workmanship,  a  fine  specimen  once,  but 
greatly  disfigured  now  by  the  bolts  and  bars  which 
had  been  added  to  it  in  satisfaction  of  the  judge's 
ideas  of  security. 

Many  years  had  passed  since  Judge  Ostrander 
had  played  the  host;  but  he  had  not  lost  a  sense  of 
its  obligations.  It  was  for  him  to  shoot  the  bolts 
and  lift  the  bars;  but  he  went  about  it  so  clumsily 
and  with  such  evident  aversion  to  the  task,  that  the 
sergeant  instinctively  sprang  to  help  him. 

"  I  shall  miss  Bela  at  every  turn,"  remarked  the 
judge,  turning  with  a  sad  smile  as  he  finally  pulled 
the  door  open.  "  This  is  an  unaccustomed  effort 
for  me.  Excuse  my  awkwardness." 

Something  in  his  attitude,  something  in  the  way 
he  lifted  his  hand  to  push  back  a  fallen  lock  from 
his  forehead,  impressed  itself  upon  the  sergeant's 
mind  so  vividly  that  he  always  remembered  the  judge 
as  he  appeared  to  him  at  that  minute.  Certainly 
there  were  but  few  men  like  him  in  the  country,  and 
none  in  his  own  town.  Of  a  commanding  person- 
ality by  reason  of  his  height,  his  features  were  of  a 
cast  to  express  his  mental  attributes  and  enforce  at- 
tention, and  the  incongruity  between  his  dominating 
figure  and  the  apprehensions  which  he  displayed  in 
these  multiplied  and  extraordinary  arrangements  for 


"  SHE  WORE  PURPLE  " 

personal  security  was  forcible  enough  to  arouse  any 
man's  interest. 

The  sergeant  was  so  occupied  by  the  mystery  of 
the  man  and  the  mystery  of  the  house  that  they  had 
passed  the  first  gate  (which  the  judge  had  unlocked 
without  much  difficulty)  before  he  realised  that  there 
still  remained  something  of  interest  for  him  to  see 
and  to  talk  about  later.  The  two  dark  openings  on 
either  side,  raised  questions  which  the  most  unimagi- 
native mind  would  feel  glad  to  hear  explained.  Ere 
the  second  gate  swung  open  and  he  found  himself 
again  in  the  street,  he  had  built  up  more  than  one 
theory  in  explanation  of  this  freak  of  parallel  fences 
with  the  strip  of  gloom  between. 

Would  he  have  felt  the  suggestion  of  the  spot 
still  more  deeply,  had  it  been  given  him  to  see  the 
anxious  and  hesitating  figure  which,  immediately 
upon  his  departure  entered  this  dark  maze,  and  with 
feeling  hands  and  cautious  step,  wound  its  way  from 
corner  to  corner  —  now  stopping  abruptly  to  listen, 
now  shrinking  from  some  imaginary  presence  —  a 
shadow  among  shadows  —  till  it  stood  again  between 
the  gates  from  which  it  had  started. 

Possibly;  even  the  hardiest  of  men  respond  to  the 
unusual,  and  prove  themselves  not  ungifted  with 
imagination  when  brought  face  to  face  with  that  for 
which  their  experience  furnishes  no  precedent. 


VI 

ACROSS  THE  BRIDGE 

IT  was  ten  o'clock,  not  later,  when  the  judge  re- 
entered  his  front  door.  He  was  alone, —  abso- 
lutely alone,  as  he  had  never  been  since  that  night 
of  long  ago,  when  with  the  inner  fence  completed 
and  the  gates  all  locked,  he  turned  to  the  great  negro 
at  his  side  and  quietly  said: 

"  We  are  done  with  the  world,  Bela.  Are  you 
satisfied  to  share  this  solitude  with  me?  "  And  Bela 
had  replied:  "  Night  and  day,  your  honour.  And 
when  you  are  not  here, —  when  you  are  at  court,  to 
bear  it  alone." 

And  now  this  faithful  friend  was  dead,  and  it  was 
he  who  must  bear  it  alone, —  alone !  How  could 
he  face  it!  He  sought  for  no  answer,  nor  did  he 
allow  himself  to  dwell  for  one  minute  on  the  thought. 
There  was  something  else  he  must  do  first, —  do  this 
very  night,  if  possible. 

Taking  down  his  hat  from  the  rack  he  turned  and 
went  out  again,  this  time  carefully  locking  the  door 
behind  him,  also  the  first  gate.  But  he  stopped 
to  listen  before  lifting  his  hand  to  the  second  one. 

A  sound  of  steady  breathing,  accompanied  by  a 

few  impatient  movements,  came  from  the  other  side. 

A  man  was  posted  there  within  a  foot  of  the  gate. 

Noiselessly  the  judge  recoiled,  and  made  his  way 

46 


ACROSS  THE  BRIDGE  47 

around  to  the  other  set  of  gates.  Here  all  was  quiet 
enough,  and  sliding  quickly  out,  he  cast  a  hasty 
glance  up  and  down  the  lane,  and  seeing  nothing 
more  alarming  than  the  back  of  a  second  officer 
lounging  at  the  corner,  pulled  the  gate  quietly  to, 
and  locked  it. 

He  was  well  down  the  road  towards  the  ravine, 
before  the  officer  turned. 

The  time  has  now  come  for  giving  you  a  clearer 
idea  of  this  especial  neighbourhood.  Judge  Ostran- 
der's  house,  situated  as  you  all  know  at  the  juncture 
of  an  unimportant  road  with  the  main  highway,  had 
in  its  rear  three  small  houses,  two  of  them  let  and 
one  still  unrented.  Farther  on,  but  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  way,  stood  a  very  old  dwelling  in  which 
there  lived  and  presumably  worked,  a  solitary  wom- 
an, the  sole  and  final  survivor  of  a  large  family. 
Beyond  was  the  ravine,  cutting  across  the  road  and 
terminating  it.  This  ravine  merits  some  description. 

It  was  a  picturesque  addition  to  the  town  through 
which  it  cut  at  the  point  of  greatest  activity.  With 
the  various  bridges  connecting  the  residence  portion 
with  the  lower  business  streets  we  have  nothing  to 
do.  But  there  was  a  nearer  one  of  which  the  de- 
mands of  my  story  necessitate  a  clear  presentation. 

This  bridge  was  called  Long,  and  spanned  the 
ravine  and  its  shallow  stream  of  water  not  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  below  the  short  road  or  lane  we  have  just 
seen  Judge  Ostrander  enter.  Between  it  and  this 
lane,  a  narrow  path  ran  amid  the  trees  and  bushes 
bordering  the  ravine.  This  path  was  seldom  used, 


48  DARK  HOLLOW 

but  when  it  was,  it  acted  as  a  short  cut  to  a  certain 
part  of  the  town  mostly  given  over  to  factories.  In- 
deed the  road  of  which  this  bridge  formed  a  part 
was  called  Factory  on  this  account.  Starting  from 
the  main  highway  a  half  mile  or  so  below  Ostrander 
Lane,  it  ran  diagonally  back  to  the  bridge,  where  it 
received  a  turn  which  sent  it  south  and  east  again 
towards  the  lower  town.  A  high  bluff  rose  at  this 
point,  which  made  the  farther  side  of  the  ravine 
much  more  imposing  than  the  one  on  the  near  side 
where  the  slope  was  gradual. 

This  path,  and  even  the  bridge  itself,  were  almost 
wholly  unlighted.  They  were  seldom  used  at  night 
—  seldom  used  at  any  time.  But  it  was  by  this 
route  the  judge  elected  to  go  into  town;  not  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  walk,  as  was  very  apparent  from  the 
extreme  depression  of  his  manner,  but  from  some 
inward  necessity  which  drove  him  on,  against  his 
wishes,  possibly  against  his  secret  misgivings. 

He  had  met  no  one  in  his  short  walk  down  the 
lane,  but  for  all  that,  he  paused  before  entering  the 
path  just  mentioned,  to  glance  back  and  see  if  he 
were  being  watched  or  followed.  When  satisfied 
that  he  was  not,  he  looked  up,  from  the  solitary  waste 
where  he  stood,  to  the  cheerless  heavens  and  sighed; 
then  forward  into  the  mass  of  impenetrable  shadow 
that  he  must  yet  traverse  and  shuddered  as  many 
another  had  shuddered  ere  beginning  this  walk. 
For  it  was  near  the  end  of  this  path,  in  full  sight 
of  the  bridge  he  must  cross,  that  his  friend,  Algernon 
Etheridge,  had  been  set  upon  and  murdered  so  many 


ACROSS  THE  BRIDGE  49 

years  before;  and  the  shadow  of  this  ancient  crime 
still  lingered  over  the  spot,  deepening  its  natural 
gloom  even  for  minds  much  less  sympathetic  and 
responsive  to  spiritual  influences  than  Judge  Os- 
trander. 

But  this  shudder,  whether  premonitory  or  just  the 
involuntary  tribute  of  friend  to  friend,  did  not  pre- 
vent his  entering  the  path  or  following  its  line  of 
shadow  as  it  rose  and  dipped  in  its  course  down  the 
gorge. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  cheerlessness  of  the  heavens. 
It  was  one  of  those  nights  when  the  sky,  piled  thick 
with  hurrying  clouds,  hangs  above  one  like  a  pall. 
But  the  moon,  hidden  behind  these  rushing  masses, 
was  at  its  full,  and  the  judge  soon  found  that  he 
could  see  his  way  better  than  he  had  anticipated  — 
better  than  was  desirable,  perhaps.  He  had  been 
on  the  descent  of  the  path  for  some  little  time  now, 
and  could  not  be  far  from  the  more  level  ground 
which  marked  the  approach  to  Long  Bridge.  De- 
termined not  to  stop  or  to  cast  one  faltering  look  to 
right  or  left,  he  hurried  on  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  ground  and  every  nerve  braced  to  resist  the  in- 
fluence of  the  place  and  its  undying  memories.  But 
with  the  striking  of  his  foot  against  the  boards 
of  the  bridge,  nature  was  too  much  for  him,  and 
his  resolve  vanished.  Instead  of  hastening  on,  he 
stopped;  and,  having  stopped,  paused  long  enough 
to  take  in  all  the  features  of  the  scene,  and  any 
changes  which  time  might  have  wrought.  He  even 
forced  his  shrinking  eyes  to  turn  and  gaze  upon  the 


SO  DARK  HOLLOW 

exact  spot  where  his  beloved  Algernon  had  been 
found,  with  his  sightless  eyes  turned  to  the  sky. 

This  latter  place,  singular  in  that  it  lay  open  to 
the  opposite  bank  without  the  mask  of  bush  or  tree 
to  hide  it,  was  in  immediate  proximity  to  the  end 
of  the  bridge  he  had  attempted  to  cross.  It  bore 
the  name  of  Dark  Hollow,  and  hollow  and  dark  it 
looked  in  the  universal  gloom.  But  the  power  of 
its  associations  was  upon  him,  and  before  he  knew 
it,  he  was  retracing  his  steps  as  though  drawn  by  a 
magnetism  he  could  not  resist,  till  he  stood  within 
this  hollow  and  possibly  on  the  very  foot  of  ground 
from  the  mere  memory  of  which  he  had  recoiled 
for  years. 

A  moment  of  contemplation  —  a  sigh,  such  as  only 
escapes  the  bursting  heart  in  moments  of  extreme 
grief  or  desolation  —  and  he  tore  his  eyes  from  the 
ground  to  raise  them  slowly  but  with  deep  meaning 
to  where  the  high  line  of  trees  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  ravine  met  the  grey  vault  of  the  sky.  Dark- 
ness piled  itself  against  darkness,  but  with  a  differ- 
ence to  one  who  knew  all  the  undulations  of  this  bluff 
and  just  where  it  ended  in  the  sheer  fall  which  gave 
a  turn  to  the  road  at  the  farther  end  of  the  bridge. 

But  it  was  not  upon  the  mass  of  undistinguishable 
tree-tops  or  the  line  they  made  against  the  sky  that 
his  gaze  lingered.  It  was  on  something  more  ma- 
terial; something  which  rose  from  the  brow  of  the 
hill  in  stark  and  curious  outline  not  explainable  in 
itself,  but  clear  enough  to  one  who  had  seen  its  shape 
by  daylight.  Judge  Ostrander  had  thus  seen  it 


ACROSS  THE  BRIDGE  51 

many  times  in  the  past,  and  knew  just  where  to  look 
for  the  one  remaining  chimney  and  solitary  gable 
of  a  house  struck  many  years  before  by  lightning 
and  left  a  grinning  shell  to  mock  the  eye  of  all  who 
walked  this  path  or  crossed  this  bridge. 

Black  amid  blackness,  with  just  the  contrast  of 
its  straight  lines  to  the  curve  of  natural  objects  about 
it,  it  commanded  the  bluff,  summoning  up  memories 
of  an  evil  race  cut  short  in  a  moment  by  an  outraged 
Providence,  and  Judge  Ostrander  marking  it,  found 
himself  muttering  aloud  as  he  dragged  himself 
slowly  away:  "Why  should  Time,  so  destructive 
elsewhere,  leave  one  stone  upon  another  of  this  ac- 
cursed ruin?  " 

Alas !     Heaven  has  no  answer  for  such  questions. 

When  he  had  reached  the  middle  of  the  bridge, 
he  stopped  short  to  look  back  at  Dark  Hollow  and 
utter  in  a  smothered  groan,  which  would  not  be  re- 
pressed, a  name  which  by  all  the  rights  of  the  spot 
should  have  been  Algernon's,  but  was  not. 

The  utterance  of  this  name  seemed  to  startle  him, 
for,  with  a  shuddering  look  around,  he  hastily  trav- 
ersed the  rest  of  the  bridge,  and  took  the  turn 
about  the  hill  to  where  Factory  Road  branched  off 
towards  the  town.  Here  he  stopped  again  and  for 
the  first  time  revealed  the  true  nature  of  his  destina- 
tion. For  when  he  moved  on  again  it  was  to  take 
the  road  along  the  bluff,  and  not  the  one  leading 
directly  into  town. 

This  meant  a   speedy  passing  by   the   lightning-- 
struck  house.     He  knew  this  of  course,  and  evidently 


52  DARK  HOLLOW 

shrunk  from  the  ordeal,  for  once  up  the  hill  and 
on  the  level  stretch  above,  he  resolutely  forbore  to 
cast  a  glance  at  its  dilapidated  fence  and  decayed 
gate  posts.  Had  he  not  done  this  —  had  his  eyes 
followed  the  long  line  of  the  path  leading  from 
these  toppling  posts  to  the  face  of  the  ruin,  he 
would  have  been  witness  to  a  strange  sight.  For 
gleaming  through  the  demolished  heart  of  it, — 
between  the  chimney  on  the  one  side  and  the  broken 
line  of  the  gable  on  the  other  —  could  be  seen  the 
half  circle  of  the  moon  suddenly  released  from  the 
clouds  which  had  hitherto  enshrouded  it.  A  weird 
sight,  to  be  seen  only  when  all  conditions  favoured. 
It  was  to  be  seen  here  to-night;  but  the  judge's 
eye  was  bent  another  way,  and  he  passed  on,  un- 
noting. 

The  ground  was  high  along  this  bluff;  almost  fifty 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  city  upon,  which  he  had 
just  turned  his  back.  Of  stony  formation  and 
much  exposed  to  the  elements,  it  had  been  considered 
an  undesirable  site  by  builders,  and  not"  a  house  was 
to  be  seen  between  the  broken  shell  of  the  one  he 
had  just  left,  and  the  long,  low,  brilliantly  illumi- 
nated structure  ahead,  for  which  he  was  evidently 
making.  The  sight  of  these  lights  and  of  the  trees 
by  which  the  house  was  surrounded,  suggested  fes- 
tival and  caused  a  qualm  of  indecision  to  momenta- 
rily disturb  him  in  his  purpose.  But  this  purpose 
was  too  strong,  and  the  circumstances  too  urgent  for 
him  to  be  deterred  by  anything  less  potent  than  a 
stroke  of  lightning.  He  rather  increased  his  pace 


ACROSS  THE  BRIDGE  53 

than  slackened  it  and  was  rewarded  by  seeing  lamp 
after  lamp  go  out  as  he  approached. 

The  pant  of  a  dozen  motors,  the  shouting  of 
various  farewells  and  then  the  sudden  rushing  forth 
of  a  long  line  of  automobiles,  proclaimed  that  the 
fete  of  the  day  was  about  over  and  that  peace  and 
order  would  soon  prevail  again  in  Claymore  Inn. 

Without  waiting  for  the  final  one  to  pass,  the 
judge  slid  around  to  the  rear  and  peered  in  at  the 
kitchen  door.  If  Mrs.  Yardley  were  the  woman  he 
supposed  her  to  be  from  the  sergeant's  description, 
she  would  be  just  then  in  the  thick  of  the  dish-wash- 
ing. And  it  was  Mrs.  Yardley  he  wished  to  see. 

Three  women  were  at  work  in  this  busiest  of 
scenes,  and,  deciding  at  a  glance  which  was  the  able 
mistress  of  the  house,  he  approached  the  large,  pleas- 
ant and  commanding  figure  piling  plates  at  the  far- 
ther end  of  the  room  and  courteously  remarked: 

"Mrs.  Yardley,  I  believe?" 

The  answer  came  quickly,  and  not  without  a 
curious  smile  of  constraint: 

"  Oh,  no.     Mrs.  Yardley  is  in  the  entry  behind." 

Bowing  his  thanks,  he  stepped  in  the  direction 
named,  just  as  the  three  women's  heads  came  simul- 
taneously together.  There  was  reason  for  their 
whispers.  His  figure,  his  head,  his  face,  were  all 
unusual,  and  at  that  moment  highly  expressive,  and 
coming  as  he  did  out  of  the  darkness,  his  presence 
had  an  uncanny  effect  upon  their  simple  minds. 
They  had  been  laughing  before;  they  ceased  to  laugh 
now.  Why  ? 


54  DARK  HOLLOW 

Meanwhile,  Judge  Ostrander  was  looking  about 
him  for  Mrs.  Yardley.  The  quiet  figure  of  a  squat 
little  body  blocked  up  a  certain  doorway. 

"  I  am  looking  for  Mrs.  Yardley,"  he  ventured. 

The  little  figure  turned;  he  was  conscious  of  two 
very  piercing  eyes  being  raised  to  his,  and  heard  in 
shaking  accents,  which  yet  were  not  the  accents  of 
weakness,  the  surprised  ejaculation: 

"Judge  Ostrander!" 

Next  minute  they  were  together  in  a  small  room, 
with  the  door  shut  behind  them.  The  energy  and 
decision  of  this  mite  of  a  woman  were  surprising. 

"  I  was  going  —  to  you  —  in  the  morning  — "  she 
panted  in  her  excitement.  "  To  apologise,"  she  re- 
spectfully finished. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  it  was  your  child  who  visited 
my  house  to-day?  " 

She  nodded.  Her  large  head  was  somewhat  dis- 
proportioned  to  her  short  and  stocky  body.  But  her 
glance  and  manner  were  not  unpleasing.  There  was 
a  moment  of  silence  which  she  hastened  to  break. 

"  Peggy  is  very  young;  it  was  not  her  fault.  She 
is  so  young  she  doesn't  even  know  where  she  went. 
She  was  found  loitering  around  the  bridge  —  a  dan- 
gerous place  for  a  child,  but  we've  been  very  busy 
all  day  —  and  she  was  found  there  and  taken  along 
by  —  by  the  other  person.  I  hope  that  you  will  ex- 
cuse it,  sir." 

,Was  she  giving  the  judge  an  opportunity  to  re- 
cover from  his  embarrassment,  or  was  she  simply 


ACROSS  THE  BRIDGE  55 

making  good  her  own  cause?  Whichever  impulse 
animated  her,  the  result  was  favourable  to  both. 
Judge  Ostrander  lost  something  of  his  strained  look, 
and  it  was  no  longer  difficult  for  her  to  meet  his  eye. 

Nevertheless,  what  he  had  to  say  came  with  a 
decided  abruptness. 

"Who  is  the  woman,  Mrs.  Yardley?  That's 
what  I  have  come  to  learn,  and  not  to  complain  of 
your  child." 

The  answer  struck  him  very  strangely,  though  he 
saw  nothing  to  lead  him  to  distrust  her  candour. 

"  I  don't  know,  Judge  Ostrander.  She  calls  her- 
self Averill,  but  that  doesn't  make  me  sure  of  her. 
You  wonder  that  I  should  keep  a  lodger  about  whom 
I  have  any  doubts,  but  there  are  times  when  Mr. 
Yardley  uses  his  own  judgment,  and  this  is  one  of 
the  times.  The  woman  pays  well  and  promptly," 
she  added  in  a  lower  tone. 

"Her  status?     Is  she  maid,  wife  or  widow?" 

"  Oh,  she  says  she  is  a  widow,  and  I  see  every 
reason  to  believe  her." 

A  slight  grimness  in  her  manner,  the  smallest  pos- 
sible edge  to  her  voice,  led  the  judge  to  remark: 

"  She's  good-looking,  I  suppose." 

A  laugh,  short  and  unmusical  but  not  without  a 
biting  humour,  broke  unexpectedly  from  the  land- 
lady's lips. 

"  If  she  is,  he  don't  know  it.  He  hasn't  seen 
her." 

"Not  seen  her?" 


56  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  No.  Her  veil  was  very  thick  the  night  she 
came  and  she  did  not  lift  it  as  long  as  he  was  by. 
If  she  had— " 

"Well,  what?" 

"  I'm  afraid  that  he  wouldn't  have  exacted  as 
much  from  her  as  he  did.  She's  one  of  those 
women — " 

"  Don't  hesitate,  Mrs.  Yardley." 

"  I'm  thinking  how  to  put  it.  Who  has  her  will 
of  your  sex,  I  might  say.  Now  I'm  not." 

"Pretty?" 

"  Not  like  a  girl,  sir.  She's  old  enough  to  show 
fade;  but  I  don't  believe  that  a  man  would  mind  that. 
She  has  a  look  —  a  way,  that  even  women  feel. 
You  may  judge,  sir,  if  we,  old  stagers  at  the  busi- 
ness, have  been  willing  to  take  her  in  and  keep  her, 
at  any  price, —  a  woman  who  won't  show  her  face 
except  to  me,  and  who  will  not  leave  her  room  with- 
out her  veil  and  then  only  for  walks  in  places  where 
no  one  else  wants  to  go, —  she  must  have  some 
queer  sort  of  charm  to  overcome  all  scruples.  But 
she's  gone  too  far  to-day.  She  shall  leave  the  Inn 
to-morrow.  I  promise  you  that,  sir,  whatever 
Samuel  says.  But  sit  down ;  sit  down ;  you  look  tired, 
judge.  Is  there  anything  you  would  like?  Shall 
I  call  Samuel?" 

"  No.  I'm  not  much  used  to  walking.  Besides, 
I  have  had  a  great  loss  to-day.  My  man,  Bela  — " 
Then  with  his  former  abruptness:  "  Have  you  no 
idea  who  this  Mrs.  Averill  is,  or  why  she  broke  into 
my  house?  " 


ACROSS  THE  BRIDGE  57 

"  There's  but  one  explanation,  sir.  I've  been 
thinking  about  it  ever  since  I  got  wind  of  where  she 
took  my  Peggy.  The  woman  is  not  responsible. 
She  has  some  sort  of  mania.  Why  else  should  she 
go  into  a  strange  gate  just  because  she  saw  it  open?  " 

"  She  hasn't  confided  in  you?  " 

"  No,  sir.  I  haven't  seen  her  since  she  brought 
Peggy  back.  We've  had  this  big  automobile  party, 
and  I  thought  my  reckoning  with  her  would  keep. 
I  heard  about  what  had  happened  at  your  place 
from  the  man  who  brought  us  fruit." 

"  Mrs.  Yardley,  you've  seen  this  woman's  face?" 

"  Yes,  I've  seen  her." 

"  Describe  it  more  particularly." 

"  I  can't.  She  has  brown  hair,  brown  eyes  and  a 
skin  as  white  as  milk;  but  that  don't  describe  her. 
Lots  of  women  have  all  that." 

"  No,  it  doesn't  describe  her."  His  manner 
seemed  to  pray  for  further  details,  but  she  stared 
back,  unresponsive.  In  fact,  she  felt  quite  helpless. 
With  a  sigh  of  impatience,  he  resorted  again  to  ques- 
tion. 

"  You  speak  of  her  as  a  stranger.  Are  you  quite 
sure  that  she  is  a  stranger  to  Shelby?  You  have  not 
been  so  very  many  years  here,  and  her  constant  wear- 
ing of  a  veil  in-doors  and  out  is  very  suspicious." 

"  So  I'm  beginning  to  think.  And  there  is  some- 
thing else,  judge,  which  makes  me  suspect  you  may 
be  quite  correct  about  her  not  being  an  entire 
stranger  here.  She  knows  this  house  too  well." 

The   judge    started.     The   strength   of   his   self- 


58  DARK  HOLLOW 

control  had  relaxed  a  bit,  and  he  showed  in  the  look 
he  cast  about  him  what  it  had  cost  him  to  enter  these 
doors. 

"  It  is  not  the  same,  of  course,"  continued  Mrs. 
Yardley,  affected  in  a  peculiar  way  by  the  glimpse 
she  had  caught  of  the  other's  emotion  unnatural  and 
incomprehensible  as  it  appeared  to  her.  "  The  place 
has  been  greatly  changed,  but  there  is  a  certain  por- 
tion of  the  old  house  left  which  only  a  person  who 
knew  it  as  it  originally  was  would  be  apt  to  find;  and 
yesterday,  on  going  into  one  of  these  remote  rooms 
I  came  upon  her  sitting  in  one  of  the  windows 
looking  out.  How  she  got  there  or  why  she  went,  I 
cannot  tell  you.  She  didn't  choose  to  tell  me,  and  I 
didn't  ask.  But  I've  not  felt  real  easy  about  her 
since." 

"  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Yardley,  it  may  be  a  matter  of 
no  moment,  but  do  you  mind  telling  me  where  this 
room  is?  " 

"  It's  on  the  top  floor,  sir;  and  it  looks  out  over 
the  ravine.  Perhaps  she  was  spying  out  the  path  to 
your  house." 

The  judge's  face  hardened.  He  felt  baffled  and 
greatly  disturbed ;  but  he  spoke  kindly  enough  when 
he  again  addressed  Mrs.  Yardley: 

"  I  am  as  ignorant  as  you  of  this  woman's  person- 
ality and  of  her  reasons  for  intruding  into  my  pres- 
ence this  morning.  But  there  is  something  so  pecul- 
iar about  this  presumptuous  attempt  of  hers  at  an 
interview,  that  I  feel  impelled  to  inquire  into  it 


ACROSS  THE  BRIDGE  59 

more  fully,  even  if  I  have  to  approach  the  only 
source  of  information  capable  of  giving  me  what  I 
want  —  that  is,  herself.  Mrs.  Yardley,  will  you 
procure  me  an  immediate  interview  with  this  woman  ? 
I  am  sure  that  you  can  be  relied  upon  to  do  this 
and  to  do  it  with  caution.  You  have  the  countenance 
of  a  woman  unusually  discreet." 

The  subtle  flattery  did  its  work.  She  was  not 
blind  to  the  fact  that  he  had  introduced  it  for  that 
very  purpose,  but  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  with- 
stand any  appeal  from  so  exalted  a  source  however 
made.  Lifting  her  eyes  fearlessly  to  his,  she  re- 
sponded earnestly: 

"  I  am  proud  to  serve  you.  I  will  see  what  I  can 
do.  Will  you  wait  here  for  just  a  few  minutes?  " 

He  bowed  quietly  enough ;  but  he  was  very  restless 
when  once  he  found  himself  alone.  Those  few 
minutes  of  waiting  seemed  interminable  to  him. 
Would  the  woman  come?  Was  she  as  anxious  to 
see  him  now  as  she  had  been  in  the  early  morning? 
Much  depended  on  her  mood,  but  more  on  the  nature 
of  the  errand  which  had  taken  her  into  his  house. 
If  that  errand  was  a  vital  one,  he  would  soon  hear 
her  steps;  indeed,  he  was  hearing  her  steps  now  — 
he  was  sure  of  it.  Those  of  Mrs.  Yardley  were 
quicker,  shorter,  more  businesslike.  These,  now 
advancing  through  the  corridor,  lingered  as  if  held 
back  by  dread  or  a  fateful  indecision. 

He  would  fain  hasten  them,  but  discretion  forbade. 

They  faltered,  turned,  then,  in  an  instant,  all  hesi- 


60  DARK  HOLLOW 

tation  was  lost  in  purpose  and  they  again  advanced 
this  time  to  the  threshold.  Judge  Ostrander  had 
just  time  to  brace  himself  to  meet  the  unknown,  when 
the  door  fell  back  and  the  woman  of  the  morning 
appeared  in  the  opening. 


VII 

WITH    HER    VEIL   DOWN 

ON  the  instant  he  recognised  that  no  common  inter- 
view lay  before  him.  She  was  still  the  mysterious 
stranger,  and  she  still  wore  her  veil  —  a  fact  all  the 
more  impressive  that  it  was  no  longer  the  accom- 
paniment of  a  hat,  but  flung  freely  over  her  bare 
head.  He  frowned  as  he  met  her  eyes  through  this 
disguising  gauze.  This  attempt  at  an  incognito  for 
which  there  seemed  to  be  no  adequate  reason,  had  a 
theatrical  look  wholly  out  of  keeping  with  the  situa- 
tion. But  he  made  no  allusion  to  it,  nor  was  the 
bow  with  which  he  acknowledged  her  presence  and 
ushered  her  into  the  room,  other  than  courteous. 
Nevertheless,  she  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  This  is  very  good  of  you,  Judge  Ostrander," 
she  remarked,  in  a  voice  both  cultured  and  pleasant. 
"  I  could  hardly  have  hoped  for  this  honour.  After 
what  happened  this  morning  at  your  house,  I  feared 
that  my  wish  for  an  interview  would  not  only  be 
disregarded  by  you,  but  that  you  would  utterly  re- 
fuse me  the  privilege  of  seeing  you.  I  own  to  feel- 
ing greatly  relieved.  Such  consideration  shown  to 
a  stranger,  argues  a  spirit  of  unusual  kindliness." 

A  tirade.     He  simply  bowed. 

"  Or  perhaps  I  am  mistaken  in  my  supposition," 

4i 


62  DARK  HOLLOW 

she  suggested,  advancing  a  step,  but  no  more. 
"  Perhaps  I  am  no  stranger  to  you?  Perhaps  you 
know  my  name  ?  " 

"Aver-ill?     No." 

She  paused,  showing  her  disappointment  quite 
openly.  Then  drawing  up  a  chair,  she  leaned 
heavily  on  its  back,  saying  in  low,  monotonous  tones 
from  which  the  former  eager  thrill  had  departed: 

"  I  see  that  the  intended  marriage  of  your  son  has 
made  very  little  impression  upon  you." 

Aghast  for  the  moment,  this  was  such  a  different 
topic  from  the  one  he  expected,  the  judge  regarded 
her  in  silence  before  remarking: 

"  I  have  known  nothing  of  it.  My  son's  concerns 
are  no  longer  mine.  If  you  have  broken  into  my 
course  of  life  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  discuss 
the  affairs  of  Oliver  Ostrander,  I  must  beg  you  to 
excuse  me.  I  have  nothing  to  say  in  his  connection 
to  you  or  to  any  one." 

"  Is  the  breach  between  you  so  deep  as  thatl  " 

This  she  said  in  a  low  tone  and  more  as  if  to  her- 
self than  to  him.  Then,  with  a  renewal  of  courage 
indicated  by  the  steadying  of  her  form  and  a  spirited 
uplift  of  her  head,  she  observed  with  a  touch  of  com- 
mand in  her  voice: 

"  There  are  some  things  which  must  be  discussed 
whatever  our  wishes  or  preconceived  resolves.  The 
separation  between  you  and  Mr.  Oliver  Ostrander 
cannot  be  so  absolute  (since  whatever  your  cause  of 
complaint  you  are  still  his  father  and  he  your  son) 
that  you  will  allow  his  whole  life's  happiness  to  be 


WITH  HER  VEIL  DOWN  63 

destroyed  for  the  lack  of  a  few  words  between  your- 
self and  me." 

He  had  made  his  bow,  and  he  now  proceeded  to 
depart,  seventy  in  his  face  and  an  implacable  resolu- 
tion in  his  eye.  But  some  impulse  made  him  stop; 
some  secret  call  from  deeply  hidden,  possibly  un- 
recognised, affections  gave  him  the  will  to  say: 

"  A  plea  uttered  through  a  veil  is  like  an  unsigned 
message.  It  partakes  too  much  of  the  indefinite. 
Will  you  lift  your  veil,  madam?" 

"  In  a  minute,"  she  assured  him.  "  The  voice 
can  convey  truth  as  certainly  as  the  features.  I  will 
not  deny  you  a  glimpse  of  the  latter  after  you  have 
heard  my  story.  Will  you  hear  it,  judge?  Issues 
of  no  common  importance  hang  upon  your  decision. 
I  entreat  —  but  no,  you  are  a  just  man;  I  will  rely 
upon  your  sense  of  right.  If  your  son's  happiness 
fails  to  appeal  to  you,  let  that  of  a  young  and  inno- 
cent girl  lovely  as  few  are  lovely  either  in  body  or 
mind." 

"Yourself,  madam?" 

"  No,  my  daughter!  Oliver  Ostrander  has  done 
us  that  honour,  sir.  He  had  every  wish  and  had 
made  every  preparation  to  marry  my  child,  when  — 
Shall  I  go  on?" 

"  You  may." 

It  was  shortly  said,  but  a  burden  seemed  to  fall 
from  her  shoulders  at  its  utterance.  Her  whole 
graceful  form  relaxed  swiftly  into  its  natural  curves, 
and  an  atmosphere  of  charm  from  this  moment  en- 
veloped her,  which  justified  the  description  of  Mrs. 


64  DARK  HOLLOW 

Yardley,  even  without  a  sight  of  the  features  she 
still  kept  hidden. 

"  I  am  a  widow,  sir."  Thus  she  began  with 
studied  simplicity.  "  With  my  one  child  I  have  been 
living  in  Detroit  these  many  years, —  ever  since  my 
husband's  death,  in  fact.  We  are  not  unliked  there, 
nor  have  we  lacked  respect.  When  some  six  months 
ago,  your  son,  who  stands  high  in  every  one's  regard, 
as  befits  his  parentage  and  his  varied  talents,  met  my 
daughter  and  fell  seriously  in  love  with  her,  no 
one,  so  far  as  I  know,  criticised  his  taste  or  found 
fault  with  his  choice.  I  was  happy,  after  many  years 
of  anxiety;  for  I  idolised  my  child  and  I  had  suf- 
fered from  many  apprehensions  as  to  her  future. 
Not  that  I  had  the  right  to  be  happy;  I  see  that 
now.  A  woman  with  a  secret, —  and  my  heart  held 
a  woful  and  desperate  one, —  should  never  feel  that 
that  secret  lacks  power  to  destroy  her  because  it  has 
long  lain  quiescent.  I  thought  my  child  safe,  and  re- 
joiced as  any  woman  might  rejoice,  and  as  I  would 
rejoice  now,  if  Fate  were  to  obliterate  that  secret 
and  emancipate  us  all  from  the  horror  of  it." 

She  paused,  waiting  for  some  acknowledgment  of 
his  interest,  but  not  getting  it,  went  on  bitterly 
enough,  for  his  stolidity  was  a  very  great  mystery  to 
her: 

"  And  she  was  safe,  to  all  appearance,  up  to  the 
very  morning  of  her  marriage  —  the  marriage  of 
which  you  say  you  had  received  no  intimation  though 
Oliver  seems  a  very  dutiful  son." 

"  Madam !  " —  The  hoarseness  of  his  tone  possi- 


WITH  HER  VEIL  DOWN  65 

bly  increased  its  peremptory  character  — "  I  really 
must  ask  you  to  lay  aside  your  veil." 

It  was  a  rebuke  and  she  felt  it  to  be  so ;  but  though 
she  blushed  behind  her  veil,  she  did  not  remove  it. 

"  Pardon  me,"  she  begged  and  very  humbly,  "  but 
I  cannot  yet.  You  will  see  why  later.  Let  me  re- 
veal my  secret  first.  I  am  coming  to  it,  Judge  Os- 
trander;  I  cannot  keep  it  back  much  longer.'* 

He  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  insist  upon 
his  wishes,  but  she  saw  by  the  gloom  of  his  eye  and 
a  certain  nervous  twitching  of  his  hands  that  it  was 
not  from  mere  impassiveness  that  his  features  had 
acquired  their  rigidity.  Smitten  with  compunction, 
she  altered  her  tone  into  one  more  deprecatory: 

"  My  story  will  be  best  told,"  she  now  said,  "  if 
I  keep  all  personal  element  out  of  it.  You  must 
imagine  Reuther,  dressed  in  her  wedding  finery,  wait- 
ing for  her  bridegroom  to  take  her  to  church.  We 
were  sitting,  she  and  I,  in  our  little  parlour,  watch- 
ing the  clock, —  for  it  was  very  near  the  hour.  At 
times,  her  face  turned  towards  me  for  a  brief  mo- 
ment, and  I  felt  all  the  pang  of  motherhood  again, 
for  her  loveliness  was  not  of  this  earth  but  of  a 
land  where  there  is  no  sin,  no  —  There !  the  memory 
was  a  little  too  much  for  me,  sir;  but  I'll  not  trans- 
gress again;  the  future  holds  too  many  possibilities  of 
suffering  for  me  to  dwell  upon  the  past.  She  was 
lovely  and  her  loveliness  sprang  from  a  pure  hope. 
We  will  let  that  suffice,  and  what  I  dreaded  was  not 
what  happened,  inexcusable  as  such  blindness  and 


66  DARK  HOLLOW 

presumption  may  appear  in  a  woman  who  has  had 
her  troubles  and  seen  the  desperate  side  of  life. 

"A  carriage  had  driven  up;  and  we  heard  his 
step;  but  it  was  not  the  step  of  a  bridegroom,  Judge 
Ostrander,  nor  was  the  gentleman  he  left  behind  him 
at  the  kerb,  the  friend  who  was  to  stand  up  with  him. 
To  Reuther,  innocent  of  all  deception,  this  occasioned 
only  surprise,  but  to  me  it  meant  the  end  of 
Reuther's  marriage  and  of  my  own  hopes.  I  shrank 
from  the  ordeal  and  stood  with  my  back  half  turned 
when,  dashed  by  his  own  emotions,  he  bounded  into 
our  presence. 

"  One  look  my  way  and  his  question  was  answered 
before  he  put  it.  Judge  Ostrander,  the  name  under 
which  I  had  lived  in  Detroit  was  not  my  real  one. 
I  had  let  him  court  and  all  but  marry  my  daughter, 
without  warning  him  in  any  way  of  what  this  de- 
ception on  my  part  covered.  But  others  —  one 
other,  I  have  reason  now  to  believe  —  had  de- 
tected my  identity  under  the  altered  circumstances  of 
my  new  life,  and  surprised  him  with  the  news  at  this 
late  hour.  We  are  —  Judge  Ostrander,  you  know 
who  we  are.  This  is  not  the  first  time  you  and  I 
have  seen  each  other  face  to  face."  And  lifting  up 
a  hand,  trembling  with  emotion,  she  put  aside  her 
reil. 


VIII 

WITH    HER   VEIL    LIFTED 
"  MRS.—" 

"You  recognise  me?" 

"  Too  well."  The  tone  was  deep  with  meaning 
but  there  was  no  accusation  in  it;  nor  was  there  any 
note  of  relief.  It  was  more  as  if  some  hope  deeply, 
and  perhaps  unconsciously,  cherished  had  suffered  a 
sudden  and  complete  extinction. 

The  change  this  made  in  him  was  too  perceptible 
for  her  not  to  observe  it.  The  shadow  lying  deep 
in  her  eyes  now  darkened  her  whole  face.  She  had 
tried  to  prepare  him  for  this  moment;  tried  to  pre- 
pare herself.  But  who  can  prepare  the  soul  for  the 
return  of  old  troubles  or  make  other  than  startling 
the  resurrection  of  a  ghost  laid,  as  men  thought,  for- 
ever. 

"  You  see  that  it  was  no  fault  of  my  own  I  was 
trying  to  hide,"  she  finally  remarked  in  her  rich  and 
sympathetic  voice. 

"  Put  back  your  veil." 

It  was  all  he  said. 

Trembling  she  complied,  murmuring  as  she 
fumbled  with  its  folds : 

"  Disgrace  to  an  Ostrander !  I  know  that  I  was 
mad  to  risk  it  for  a  moment.  Forgive  me  for  the 
67 


68  DARK  HOLLOW 

attempt,  and  listen  to  my  errand.  Oliver  was  will- 
ing to  marry  my  child,  even  after  he  knew  the  shame 
it  would  entail.  But  Reuther  would  not  accept  the 
sacrifice.  When  she  learned,  as  she  was  obliged  to 
now,  that  her  father  had  not  only  been  sentenced  to 
death  for  the  worst  crime  in  the  calendar,  but  had 
suffered  the  full  penalty,  leaving  only  a  legacy  of 
eternal  disgrace  to  his  wife  and  innocent  child,  she 
showed  a  spirit  becoming  a  better  parentage.  In  his 
presence,  and  in  spite  of  his  dissuasions  (for  he  acted 
with  all  the  nobility  one  might  expect)  she  took  off 
her  veil  with  her  own  hands  and  laid  it  aside  with 
a  look  expressive  of  eternal  renunciation.  She 
loves  him,  sir;  and  there  is  no  selfishness  in  her 
heart  and  never  has  been.  For  all  her  frail  appear- 
ance and  the  mildness  of  her  temper,  she  is  like  flint 
where  principle  is  involved  or  the  welfare  of  those 
she  loves  is  at  stake.  My  daughter  may  die  from 
shock  or  shame,  but  she  will  never  cloud  your  son's 
prospects  with  the  obloquy  which  has  settled  over 
her  own.  Judge  Ostrander,  I  am  not  worthy  of 
such  a  child,  but  such  she  is.  If  John  — " 

"  We  will  not  speak  his  name,"  broke  in  Judge 
Ostrander,  assuming  a  peremptory  bearing  quite  un- 
like his  former  one  of  dignified  reserve.  "  I  should 
like  to  hear,  instead,  your  explanation  of  how  my 
son  became  inveigled  into  an  engagement  of  which 
you,  if  no  one  else,  knew  the  preposterous  nature." 

"  Judge  Ostrander,  you  do  right  to  blame  me.  I 
should  never  have  given  my  consent,  never.  But  I 
thought  our  past  so  completely  hidden  —  our  iden- 


WITH  HER  VEIL  LIFTED  69 

tity  so  entirely  lost  under  the  accepted  name  of  Aver- 
ill." 

"You  thought!"  He  towered  over  her  in  his 
anger.  He  looked  and  acted  as  in  the  old  days, 
when  witnesses  cowered  under  his  eye  and  voice. 
"  Say  that  you  knew,  madam;  that  you  planned  this 
unholy  trap  for  my  son.  You  had  a  pretty  daughter, 
and  you  saw  to  it  that  she  came  under  his  notice ;  nay, 
more,  ignoring  the  claims  of  decency,  you  allowed 
the  folly  to  proceed,  if  you  did  not  help  it  on  in  your 
misguided  ambition  to  marry  your  daughter  well.'* 

"  Judge  Ostrander,  I  did  not  plan  their  meeting, 
nor  did  I  at  first  encourage  his  addresses.  Not  till  I 
saw  the  extent  of  their  mutual  attachment,  did  I  yield 
to  the  event  and  accept  the  consequences.  But  I  was 
wrong,  wholly  wrong  to  allow  him  to  visit  her  a  sec- 
ond time;  but  now  that  the  mischief  is  done  — " 

Judge  Ostrander  was  not  listening. 

"  I  have  a  question  to  put  you,"  said  he,  when  he 
realised  that  she  had  ceased  speaking.  "  Oliver  was 
never  a  fool.  When  he  was  told  who  your  daughter 
was,  what  did  he  say  of  the  coincidence  which  made 
him  the  lover  of  the  woman  against  whose  father, 
his  father  had  uttered  a  sentence  of  death?  Didn't 
he  marvel  and  call  it  extraordinary  —  the  work  of 
the  devil?" 

"  Possibly;  but  if  he  did,  it  was  not  in  any  con- 
versation he  had  with  me." 

"  Detroit  is  a  large  city  and  must  possess  hundreds 
of  sweet  young  girls  within  its  borders.  Could  he 
contemplate  without  wonder  the  fact  that  he  had 


70  DARK  HOLLOW 

been  led  to  the  door  of  the  one  above  all  others  be- 
tween whom  and  himself  Fate  had  set  such  an  in- 
surmountable barrier?  He  must  have  been  struck 
deeply  by  the  coincidence;  he  must  have  been, 
madam." 

Astonished  at  his  manner,  at  the  emphasis  he 
placed  upon  this  point  which  seemed  to  her  so  much 
less  serious  than  many  others,  she  regarded  him 
doubtfully  before  saying: 

"  I  was  if  he  was  not.  From  the  very  first  I  won- 
dered. But  I  got  used  to  the  fact  during  the  five 
months  of  his  courtship.  And  I  got  used  to  another 
fact  too;  that  my  secret  was  safe  so  far  as  it  ran  the 
risk  of  being  endangered  by  a  meeting  with  yourself. 
Mr.  Ostrander  made  it  very  plain  to  us  that  we  need 
never  expect  to  see  you  in  Detroit." 

"  He  did?  Did  he  offer  any  explanation  for  this 
lack  of  —  of  sympathy  between  us  ?  " 

"  Never.  It  was  a  topic  he  forbore  to  enter  into 
and  I  think  he  only  said  what  he  did,  to  prevent  any 
expectations  on  our  part  of  ever  seeing  you." 

"  And  your  daughter?  Was  he  as  close-mouthed 
in  speaking  of  me  to  her  as  he  was  to  you?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  Reuther  betrays  no 
knowledge  of  you  or  of  your  habits,  and  has  never 
expressed  but  one  curiosity  in  your  regard.  As  you 
can  imagine  what  that  is,  I  will  not  mention  it." 

"  You  are  at  liberty  to.  I  have  listened  to  much 
and  can  well  listen  to  a  little  more." 

"  Judge,  she  is  of  a  very  affectionate  nature  and 
her  appreciation  of  your  son's  virtues  is  very  great. 


WITH  HER  VEIL  LIFTED  71 

Though  her  conception  of  yourself  is  naturally  a 
very  vague  one,  it  is  only  to  be  expected  that  she 
should  wonder  how  you  could  live  so  long  without  a 
visit  from  Oliver." 

Expectant  as  he  was  of  this  reply,  and  resolved  as 
he  was,  to  hear  it  unmoved,  he  had  miscalculated  his 
strength  or  his  power  of  concealment,  for  he  turned 
aside  immediately  upon  hearing  it,  and  walked  away 
from  her  towards  the  further  extremity  of  the  room. 
Covertly  she  watched  him;  first  through  her  veil, 
and  then  with  it  partly  removed.  She  did  not  under- 
stand his  mood;  and  she  hardly  understood  her  own. 
When  she  entered  upon  this  interview,  her  mind  had 
been  so  intent  upon  one  purpose  that  it  seemed  to 
absorb  all  her  faculties  and  reach  every  corner  of  her 
heart;  yet  here  she  was,  after  the  exchange  of  many 
words  between  them,  with  her  purpose  uncommu- 
nicated  and  her  heart  unrelieved,  staring  at  him  not  in 
the  interest  of  her  own  griefs,  but  in  commiseration 
of  his. 

Yet  when  he  faced  her  once  more  every  thought 
vanished  from  her  mind  save  the  one  which  had  sus- 
tained her  through  the  extraordinary  measures  she 
had  taken  to  secure  herself  this  opportunity  of  pre- 
senting her  lost  cause  to  the  judgment  of  the  only 
man  from  whom  she  could  expect  aid. 

But  her  impulse  was  stayed  and  her  thoughts 
sent  wandering  again  by  the  penetrating  look  he  gave 
her  before  she  let  her  veil  fall  again. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  Detroit?  "  he  asked. 

"  Ever  since  — " 


T±  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  And  how  old  is  Reuther?  " 

"  Eighteen,  but  — " 

"  Twelve  years  ago,  then."  He  paused  and 
glanced  about  him  before  adding,  "  She  was  about 
the  age  of  the  child  you  brought  to  my  house  to- 
day." 

"  Yes,  sir,  very  nearly." 

His  lips  took  a  strange  twist.  There  was  self- 
contempt  in  it,  and  some  other  very  peculiar  and 
contradictory  emotion.  But  when  this  semblance  of 
a  smile  had  passed,  it  was  no  longer  Oliver's  father 
she  saw  before  her,  but  the  county's  judge.  Even 
his  tone  partook  of  the  change  as  he  dryly  remarked: 

"  What  you  have  told  me  concerning  your 
daughter  and  my  son  is  very  interesting.  But  it  was 
not  for  the  simple  purpose  of  informing  me  that  this 
untoward  engagement  was  at  an  end  that  you  came 
to  Shelby.  You  have  another  purpose.  What  is 
it?  I  can  remain  with  you  just  five  minutes  longer." 

Five  minutes !  It  only  takes  one  to  kill  a  hope  but 
five  are  far  too  few  for  the  reconstruction  of  one. 
But  she  gave  no  sign  of  her  secret  doubts,  as  she 
plunged  at  once  into  her  subject. 

"I  will  be  brief,"  said  she;  "as  brief  as  any 
mother  can  be  who  is  pleading  for  her  daughter's 
life  as  well  as  happiness.  Reuther  has  no  real  ail- 
ment, but  her  constitution  is  abnormally  weak,  and 
she  will  die  of  this  grief  if  some  miracle  does  not 
save  her.  Strong  as  her  will  is,  determined  as  she  is 
to  do  her  duty  at  all  cost,  she  has  very  little  physical 
stamina.  See!  here  is  her  photograph  taken  but  a 


WITH  HER  VEIL  LIFTED  73 

short  time  ago.  Look  at  it  I  beg.  See  what  she 
was  like  when  life  was  full  of  hope ;  and  then  imagine 
her  with  all  hope  eliminated." 

"  Excuse  me.  What  use  ?  I  can  do  nothing.  I 
am  very  sorry  for  the  child,  but  — "  His  very  atti- 
tude showed  his  disinclination  to  look  at  the  picture. 

But  she  would  not  be  denied.  She  thrust  it  upon 
him  and  once  his  eyes  had  fallen  upon  it,  they  clung 
there  though  evidently  against  his  will.  Ah,  she 
knew  that  Reuther's  exquisite  countenance  would 
plead  for  itself !  God  seldom  grants  to  such  beauty, 
so  lovely  a  spirit.  If  the  features  themselves  failed 
to  appeal,  certainly  he  must  feel  the  charm  of  an 
expression  which  had  already  netted  so  many  hearts. 
Breathlessly  she  watched  him,  and,  as  she  watched, 
she  noted  the  heavy  lines  carved  in  his  face  by 
thought  and  possibly  by  sorrow,  slowly  relax  and  his 
eyes  fill  with  a  wistful  tenderness. 

In  the  egotism  of  her  relief,  she  thought  to  deepen 
the  impression  she  had  made  by  one  vivid  picture  of 
her  daughter  as  she  was  now.  Mistaking  his  tem- 
perament or  his  story,  classing  him  in  with  other 
strong  men,  the  well  of  whose  feeling  once  roused 
overflows  in  sympathetic  emotion,  she  observed  very 
gently  but,  as  she  soon  saw,  unwisely: 

"  Such  delicacy  can  withstand  a  blow,  but  not  a 
steady  heartbreak.  When,  on  that  dreadful  night 
I  crept  in  from  my  sleepless  bed  to  see  how  my  dar- 
ling was  bearing  her  long  watch,  this  was  what  I  saw. 
She  had  not  moved,  no,  not  an  inch  in  the  long  hours 
which  had  passed  since  I  left  her.  She  had  not  even 


74  DARK  HOLLOW 

stirred  the  hand  from  which,  at  her  request,  I  had 
myself  drawn  her  engagement  ring.  I  doubt  even 
if  her  lids  had  shut  once  over  her  strained  and  wide- 
staring  eyes.  It  was  as  if  she  were  laid  out  for  her 
grave  — " 

"Madam!" 

The  harsh  tone  recalled  her  to  herself.  She  took 
back  the  picture  he  was  holding  towards  her  and 
was  hardly  surprised  when  he  said: 

"  Parents  must  learn  to  endure  bitterness.  I  have 
not  been  exempt  myself  from  such.  Your  child  will 
not  die.  You  have  years  of  mutual  companionship 
before  you,  while  I  have  nothing.  And  now  let  us 
end  this  interview  so  painful  to  both.  You  have 
said—" 

"  No,"  she  broke  in  with  sudden  vehemence,  all 
the  more  startling  from  the  restraint  in  which  she 
had  -held  herself  up  to  this  moment,  "  I  have  not 
said  —  I  have  not  begun  to  say  what  seethes  like  a 
consuming  fire  in  my  breast.  Judge  Ostrander,  I 
do  not  know  what  has  estranged  you  from  Oliver. 
It  must  be  something  serious ;  —  for  you  are  both 
good  men.  But  whatever  it  is,  of  this  I  am  certain : 
you  would  not  wilfully  deliver  an  innocent  child  like 
mine  to  a  wretched  fate  which  a  well-directed  effort 
might  avert.  I  spoke  of  a  miracle  —  Will  you  not 
listen,  judge?  I  am  not  wild;  I  am  not  unconscious 
of  presumption.  I  am  only  in  earnest,  in  deadly 
earnest.  A  miracle  is  possible.  The  gulf  between 
these  two  may  yet  be  spanned.  I  see  a  way  — " 

What  change  was  this  to  which  she  had  suddenly 


WITH  HER  VEIL  LIFTED  75 

become  witness?  The  face  which  had  not  lost  all 
its  underlying  benignancy  even  when  it  looked  its 
coldest,  had  now  become  settled  and  hard.  His 
manner  was  absolutely  repellent  as  he  broke  in  with 
the  quick  disclaimer: 

"  But  there  1*5  no  way.  What  miracle  could  ever 
make  your  daughter,  lovely  as  she  undoubtedly  is,  a 
fitting  match  for  my  son !  None,  madam,  absolutely 
none.  Such  an  alliance  would  be  monstrous;  un- 
natural." 

"Why?"  The  word  came  out  boldly.  If  she 
was  intimidated  by  this  unexpected  attack  from  a 
man  accustomed  to  deference  and  altogether  able  to 
exact  it,  she  did  not  show  it.  "  Because  her  father 
died  the  death  of  a  criminal?  "  she  asked. 

The  answer  was  equally  blunt: 

"  Yes;  a  criminal  over  whose  trial  his  father  pre- 
sided as  judge." 

Was  she  daunted?  No.  Quick  as  a  flash  came 
the  retort. 

"  A  judge,  however,  who  showed  him  every  con- 
sideration possible.  I  was  told  at  the  time  and  I 
have  been  assured  by  many  since  that  you  were  more 
than  just  to  him  in  your  rulings.  Such  a  memory 
creates  a  bond  of  gratitude,  not  hate.  Judge  Os- 
trander  " —  He  had  taken  a  step  towards  the  hall- 
door;  but  he  paused  at  this  utterance  of  his  name 
— "  answer  me  this  one  question.  Why  did  you 
do  this?  As  his  widow,  as  the  mother  of  his  child, 
I  implore  you  to  tell  me  why  you  showed  him  this 
leniency?  You  must  have  hated  him  deeply — " 


76  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  Yes.     I  have  never  hated  any  one  more." 

"The  slayer  of  your  dearest  friend;  of  your  in- 
separable companion;  of  the  one  person  who  stood 
next  to  your  son  in  your  affections  and  regard !  " 

He  put  up  his  hand.  The  gesture,  the  way  he 
turned  his  face  aside  showed  that  she  had  touched 
the  raw  of  a  wound  still  unhealed.  Insensibly,  the 
woman  in  her  responded  to  this  evidence  of  an  un- 
dying sorrow,  and  modulating  her  voice,  she  went 
on,  with  just  a  touch  of  the  subtle  fascination  which 
made  her  always  listened  to : 

"  Your  feeling  for  Mr.  Etheridge  was  well  known. 
Then  why  such  magnanimity  towards  the  man  who 
stood  on  trial  for  killing  him?" 

Unaccustomed  to  be  questioned,  though  living  in 
an  atmosphere  of  continual  yes  and  no,  he  stared  at 
the  veiled  features  of  one  who  so  dared,  as  if  he 
found  it  hard  to  excuse  such  presumption.  But  he 
answered  her  nevertheless,  and  with  decided  empha- 
sis: 

"  Possibly  because  his  victim  was  my  friend  and 
lifelong  companion.  A  judge  fears  his  own  pre- 
judices." 

"  Possibly;  but  you  had  another  reason,  judge;  a 
reason  which  justified  you  in  your  own  eyes  at  the 
time  and  which  justifies  you  in  mine  now  and  always. 
Am  I  not  right?  This  is  no  court-room;  the  case  is 
one  of  the  past;  it  can  never  be  reopened;  the  pris- 
oner is  dead.  Answer  me  then,  as  one  sorrowing 
mortal  replies  to  another,  hadn't  you  another  rea- 
son?" 


WITH  HER  VEIL  LIFTED  77 

The  judge,  panoplied  though  he  was  or  thought  he 
was,  against  all  conceivable  attack,  winced  at  this  rep- 
etition of  a  question  he  had  hoped  to  ignore,  and  in 
his  anxiety  to  hide  this  involuntary  betrayal  of  weak- 
ness, allowed  his  anger  to  have  full  vent,  as  he  cried 
out  in  no  measured  terms : 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?  What  are 
you  after?  Why  are  you  raking  up  these  bygones 
which  only  make  the  present  condition  of  affairs 
darker  and  more  hopeless  ?  You  say  that  you  know 
some  way  of  making  the  match  between  your 
daughter  and  my  son  feasible  and  proper.  I  say 
that  nothing  can  do  this.  Fact  —  the  sternest  of 
facts  is  against  it.  If  you  found  a  way,  I  shouldn't 
accept  it.  Oliver  Ostrander,  under  no  circumstances 
and  by  means  of  no  sophistries,  can  ever  marry  the 
daughter  of  John  Scoville.  I  should  think  you 
would  see  that  for  yourself." 

"  But  if  John  should  be  proved  to  have  suffered 
wrongfully?  If  he  should  be  shown  to  have  been 
innocent?  " 

"Innocent?" 

"  Yes.  I  have  always  had  doubts  of  his  guilt, 
even  when  circumstances  bore  most  heavily  against 
him;  and  now,  as  I  look  back  upon  the  trial  and 
remember  certain  things,  I  feel  sure  that  you  had 
doubts  of  it,  yourself." 

His  rebuke  was  quick,  instant.  With  a  force 
and  earnestness  which  recalled  the  court-room  he 
replied : 

"  Madam,   your  hopes   and  wishes  have  misled 


78  DARK  HOLLOW 

you.  Your  husband  was  a  guilty  man;  as  guilty  a 
man  as  any  judge  ever  passed  sentence  upon." 

"  Oh  1  "  she  wailed  forth,  reeling  heavily  back 
and  almost  succumbing  to  the  shock,  she  had  so  thor- 
oughly convinced  herself  that  what  she  said  was  true. 
But  hers  was  a  courageous  soul.  She  rallied  in- 
stantly and  approaching  him  again  with  face  un- 
covered and  her  whole  potent  personality  alive  with 
magnetism,  she  retorted: 

"  You  say  that,  eye  to  my  eye,  hand  on  my  hand, 
heart  beating  with  my  heart  above  the  grave  of  our 
children's  mutual  happiness?" 

"  I  do." 

Convinced;  for  there  was  no  wavering  in  his  eye, 
no  trembling  in  the  hand  she  had  clasped;  convinced 
but  ready  notwithstanding  to  repudiate  her  own  con- 
victions, so  much  of  the  mother-passion,  if  not  the 
wife's,  tugged  at  her  heart,  she  remained  immovable 
for  a  moment,  waiting  for  the  impossible,  hoping 
against  hope  for  a  withdrawal  of  his  words  and  the 
reillumination  of  hope.  Then  her  hand  fell  away 
from  his;  she  gave  a  great  sob,  and,  lowering  her 
head,  muttered: 

"  John  Scoville  smote  down  Algernon  Etheridge ! 
O  God !  O  God !  what  horror !  " 

A  sigh  from  her  one  auditor  welled  up  in  the 
silence,  holding  a  note  which  startled  her  erect  and 
brought  back  a  memory  which  drove  her  again  into 
passionate  speech: 

"  But  he  swore  the  day  I  last  visited  him  in  the  pris- 
on, with  his  arms  pressed  tight  about  me  and  his  eye 


WITH  HER  VEIL  LIFTED  79 

looking  straight  into  mine  as  you  are  looking  now, 
that  he  never  struck  that  blow.  I  did  not  believe 
him  then,  there  were  too  many  dark  spots  in  my 
memory  of  old  lies  premeditated  and  destructive  of 
my  happiness;  but  I  believed  him  later,  and  I  believe 
him  now." 

"  Madam,  this  is  quite  unprofitable.  A  jury  of 
his  peers  condemned  him  as  guilty  and  the  law  com- 
pelled me  to  pass  sentence  upon  him.  That  his  in- 
nocent child  should  be  forced,  by  the  inexorable  de- 
crees of  fate,  to  suffer  for  a  father's  misdoing,  I 
regret  as  much,  perhaps  more,  than  you  do;  for  my 
son  —  beloved,  though  irreconcilably  separated  from 
me  —  suffers  with  her,  you  say.  But  I  see  no  rem- 
edy;—  no  remedy,  I  repeat.  Were  Oliver  to  for- 
get himself  so  far  as  to  ignore  the  past  and  marry 
Reuther  Scoville,  a  stigma  would  fall  upon  them 
both  for  which  no  amount  of  domestic  happiness 
could  ever  compensate.  Indeed,  there  can  be  no 
domestic  happiness  for  a  man  and  woman  so  situ- 
ated. The  inevitable  must  be  accepted.  Madam,  I 
have  said  my  last  word." 

"  But  not  heard  mine,"  she  panted.  "  For  me  to 
acknowledge  the  inevitable  where  my  daughter's 
life  and  happiness  are  concerned  would  make  me 
seem  a  coward  in  my  own  eyes.  Helped  or  un- 
helped,  with  the  sympathy  or  without  the  sympathy 
of  one  who  I  hoped  would  show  himself  my  friend, 
I  shall  proceed  with  the  task  to  which  I  have  dedi- 
cated myself.  You  will  forgive  me,  judge.  You 
see  that  John's  last  declaration  of  innocence  goes 


8o  DARK  HOLLOW 

farther  with  me  than  your  belief,  backed  as  it  is  by 
the  full  weight  of  the  law." 

Gazing  at  her  as  at  one  gone  suddenly  demented, 
he  said: 

"  I  fail  to  understand  you,  Mrs.  —  I  will  call 
you  Mrs.  Averill.  You  speak  of  a  task.  What 
task?" 

"  The  only  one  I  have  heart  for:  the  proving  that 
Reuther  is  not  the  child  of  a  wilful  murderer;  that 
another  man  did  the  deed  for  which  he  suffered.  I 
can  do  it.  I  feel  confident  that  I  can  dp  it;  and  if 
you  will  not  help  me  — " 

"  Help  you !  After  what  I  have  said  and  reiter- 
ated that  he  is  guilty,  guilty,  GUILTY?  " 

Advancing  upon  her  with  each  repetition  of  the 
word,  he  towered  before  her,  an  imposing,  almost 
formidable  figure.  Where  was  her  courage  now? 
In  what  pit  of  despair  had  it  finally  gone  down? 
She  eyed  him  fascinated,  feeling  her  inconsequence 
and  all  the  madness  of  her  romantic,  ill-digested 
effort,  when  from  somewhere  in  the  maze  of  con- 
fused memories  there  came  to  her  a  cry,  not  of  the 
disappointed  heart  but  of  a  daughter's  shame,  and 
she  saw  again  the  desperate,  haunted  look  with 
which  the  stricken  child  had  said  in  answer  to  some 
plea,  "  A  criminal's  daughter  has  no  place  in  this 
world  but  with  the  suffering  and  the  lost";  and 
nerved  anew,  she  faced  again  his  anger  which  might 
well  be  righteous,  and  with  almost  preternatural  in- 
sight, boldly  declared: 

"  You  are  too  vehement  to   quite  convince  me, 


WITH  HER  VEIL  LIFTED  81 

Judge  Ostrander.  Acknowledge  it  or  not,  there  is 
more  doubt  than  certainty  in  your  mind;  a  doubt 
which  ultimately  will  lead  you  to  help  me.  You  are 
too  honest  not  to.  When  you  see  that  I  have  some 
reason  for  the  hopes  I  express,  your  sense  of  justice 
will  prevail  and  you  will  confide  to  me  the  point  un- 
touched or  the  fact  unmet,  which  has  left  this  rank- 
ling dissatisfaction  to  fester  in  your  mind.  That 
known,  my  way  should  broaden ;  —  a  way,  at  the 
end  of  which  I  see  a  united  couple  —  my  daughter 
and  your  son.  Oh,  she  is  worthy  of  him — "  the 
woman  broke  forth,  as  he  made  another  repellent 
and  imperative  gesture.  "  Ask  any  one  in  the  town 
where  we  have  lived." 

Abruptly,  and  without  apology  for  his  rudeness, 
Judge  Ostrander  again  turned  his  back  and  walked 
away  from  her  to  an  old-fashioned  bookcase  which 
stood  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  Halting  mechan- 
ically before  it,  he  let  his  eyes  roam  up  and  down 
over  the  shelves,  seeing  nothing,  as  she  was  well 
aware,  but  weighing,  as  she  hoped,  the  merits  of  the 
problem  she  had  propounded  him.  She  was,  there- 
fore, unduly  startled  when  with  a  quick  whirl  about 
which  brought  him  face  to  face  with  her  once  more, 
he  impetuously  asked: 

"  Madam,  you  were  in  my  house  this  morning. 
You  came  in  through  a  gate  which  Bela  had  left  un- 
locked. Will  you  explain  how  you  came  to  do  this? 
Did  you  know  that  he  was  going  down  street,  leaving 
the  way  open  behind  him?  Was  there  collusion 
between  you  ?  " 


82  DARK  HOLLOW 

Her  eyes  looked  up  clearly  into  his.  She  felt  that 
she  had  nothing  to  disguise  or  conceal. 

"  I  had  urged  him  to  do  this,  Judge  Ostrander. 
I  had  met  him  more  than  once  in  the  street  when  he 
went  out  to  do  your  errands,  and  I  used  all  my  per- 
suasion to  induce  him  to  give  me  this  one  opportunity 
of  pleading  my  cause  with  you.  He  was  your  de- 
voted servant,  he  showed  it  in  his  death,  but  he 
never  got  over  his  affection  for  Oliver.  He  told 
me  that  he  would  wake  oftentimes  in  the  night 
feeling  about  for  the  boy  he  used  to  carry  in  his 
arms.  When  I  told  him  — " 

"  Enough!     He  knew  who  you  were  then?  " 

"  He  remembered  me  when  I  lifted  my  veil.  Oh, 
I  know  very  well  that  I  had  not  the  right  to  in- 
fluence your  own  man  to  disobey  your  orders.  But 
my  cause  was  so  pressing  and  your  seclusion  seem- 
ingly so  arbitrary.  How  could  I  dream  that  your 
nerves  could  not  bear  any  sudden  shock?  or  that 
Bela  —  that  giant  among  negroes  —  would  be  so 
affected  by  his  emotions  that  he  would  not  see  or 
hear  an  approaching  automobile?  You  must  not 
blame  me  for  these  tragedies;  and  you  must  not 
blame  Bela.  He  was  torn  by  conflicting  duties,  and 
only  yielded  because  of  his  great  love  for  the  ab- 
sent." 

"  I  do  not  blame  Bela." 

Startled,  she  looked  at  him  with  wondering  eyes. 
There  was  a  brooding  despair  in  his  tone  which 
caught  at  her  heart,  and  for  an  instant  made  her 
feel  the  full  extent  of  her  temerity.  In  a  vain  en- 


WITH  HER  VEIL  LIFTED  83 

deavour  to  regain  her  confidence,  she  falteringly  re- 
marked. 

"  I  had  listened  to  what  folks  said.  I  had  heard 
that  you  would  receive  nobody;  talk  to  nobody. 
Bela  was  my  only  resource." 

"  Madam,  I  do  not  blame  you." 

He  was  scrutinising  her  keenly  and  for  the  first 
time  understandingly.  Whatever  her  station  past 
or  present,  she  was  certainly  no  ordinary  woman, 
nor  was  her  face  without  beauty,  lit  as  it  was  by 
passion  and  every  ardour  of  which  a  loving  woman 
is  capable.  No  man  would  be  likely  to  resist  it  un- 
less his  armour  were  thrice  forged.  Would  he  him- 
self be  able  to?  He  began  to  experience  a  cold  fear, 
—  a  dread  which  drew  a  black  veil  over  the  future ; 
a  blacker  veil  than  that  which  had  hitherto  rested 
upon  it. 

But  his  face  showed  nothing.  He  was  master  of 
that  yet.  Only  his  tone.  That  silenced  her.  She 
was  therefore  scarcely  surprised  when,  with  a  slight 
change  of  attitude  which  brought  their  faces  more 
closely  together,  he  proceeded,  with  a  piercing  in- 
tensity not  to  be  withstood: 

"  When  you  entered  my  house  this  morning,  did 
you  come  directly  to  my  room?  " 

"  Yes.     Bela  told  me  just  how  to  reach  it." 

"  And  when  you  saw  me  indisposed  —  unable,  in 
fact,  to  greet  you  —  what  did  you  do  then?  " 

With  the  force  and  meaning  of  one  who  takes  an 
oath,  she  brought  her  hand,  palm  downward  on  the 
table  before  her,  as  she  steadily  replied: 


84  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  I  flew  back  into  the  room  through  which  I  had 
come,  undecided  whether  to  fly  the  house  or  wait 
for  what  might  happen  to  you.  I  had  never  seen 
any  one  in  such  an  attack  before,  and  almost  ex- 
pected to  hear  you  fall  forward  to  the  floor.  But 
when  you  did  not  and  the  silence,  which  seemed  so 
awful,  remained  unbroken,  I  pulled  the  curtain  aside 
and  looked  in  again.  There  was  no  change  in  your 
posture;  and,  alarmed  now  for  your  sake  rather  than 
for  my  own,  I  did  not  dare  to  go  till  Bela  came  back. 
So  I  stayed  watching." 

"Stayed  where?" 

"  In  a  dark  corner  of  that  same  room.  I  never 
left  it  till  the  crowd  came  in.  Then  I  slid  out  be- 
hind them." 

"  Was  the  child  with  you  —  at  your  side  I  mean, 
all  this  time  ?  " 

"  I  never  let  go  her  hand." 

"  Woman,  you  are  keeping  nothing  back?  " 

"  Nothing  but  my  terror  at  the  sight  of  Bela  run- 
ning in  all  bloody  to  escape  the  people  pressing  after 
him.  I  thought  then  that  I  had  been  the  death  of 
servant  as  well  as  master.  You  can  imagine  my  re- 
lief when  I  heard  that  yours  was  but  a  passing  at- 
tack." 

Sincerity  was  in  her  manner  and  in  her  voice. 
The  judge  breathed  more  easily,  and  made  the  re- 
mark : 

"  No  one  with  hearing  unimpaired  can  realise  the 
suspicion  of  the  deaf,  nor  can  any  one  who  is  not 
subject  to  attacks  like  mine  conceive  the  doubts  with 


WITH  HER  VEIL  LIFTED  85 

which  a  man  so  cursed  views  those  who  have  been  ac- 
tive about  him  while  the  world  to  him  was  blank." 

Thus  he  dismissed  the  present  subject,  to  sur- 
prise her  by  a  renewal  of  the  old  one. 

"  What  are  your  reasons,"  said  he,  "  for  the  hopes 
you  have  just  expressed?  I  think  it  your  duty  to 
tell  me  before  we  go  any  further." 

It  was  an  acknowledgment,  uttered  after  his  own 
fashion,  of  the  truth  of  her  plea  and  the  correct- 
ness of  her  woman's  insight.  She  contemplated  his 
face  anew,  and  wondered  that  the  dart  she  had  so 
inconsiderately  launched  should  have  found  the  one 
weak  joint  in  this  strong  man's  armour.  But  she 
made  no  immediate  reply,  rather  stopped  to  ponder, 
finally  saying,  with  drooped  head  and  nervously 
working  fingers: 

"  Excuse  me  for  to-night.  What  I  have  to  tell 
—  or  rather,  what  I  have  to  show  you, —  requires 
daylight."  Then,  as  she  became  conscious  of  his 
astonishment,  added  falteringly: 

"  Have  you  any  objection  to  meeting  me  to-mor- 
row on  the  bluff  overlooking  Dark  — " 

The  voice  of  the  clock,  and  that  only!  Tick! 
Tick!  Tick!  Tick!  That  only!  Why  then  had 
she  felt  it  impossible  to  finish  her  sentence?  The 
judge  was  looking  at  her;  he  had  not  moved;  nor 
had  an  eyelash  stirred,  but  the  rest  of  that  sentence 
had  stuck  in  her  throat,  and  she  found  herself  stand- 
ing as  immovably  quiet  as  he. 

Then  she  remembered.  He  had  loved  Algernon 
Etheridge.  Memory  still  lived.  The  spot  she  had 


86  DARK  HOLLOW 

mentioned  was  a  horror  to  him.  Weakly  she  strove 
to  apologise. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  began,  but  he  cut  her  short 
at  once. 

"Why  there?"  he  asked. 

"Because" — her  words  came  slowly,  haltingly, 
as  she  tremulously,  almost  fearfully,  felt  her  way 
with  him  — "  because  —  there  —  is  —  no  —  other 
place  —  where  —  I  can  make  —  my  point." 

,He  smiled.  It  was  his  first  smile  in  years  and 
naturally  was  a  little  constrained, —  and  to  her  eyes 
at  least,  almost  more  terrifying  than  his  frown. 

"  You  have  a  point,  then,  to  make  ?  " 

"  A  good  one." 

He  started  as  if  to  approach  her,  and  then  stood 
stock-still. 

"  Why  have  you  waited  till  now?  "  he  called  out, 
forgetful  that  they  were  not  alone  in  the  house,  for- 
getful apparently  of  everything  but  his  surprise  and 
repulsion.  "  Why  not  have  made  use  of  this  point 
before  it  was  too  late?  You  were  at  your  husband's 
trial;  you  were  even  on  the  witness-stand?  " 

She  nodded,  thoroughly  cowed  at  last  both  by  his 
indignation  and  the  revelation  contained  in  this  ques- 
tion of  the  judicial  mind  — "  Why  now,  when  the 
time  was  then?  " 

Happily,  she  had  an  answer. 

"Judge  Ostrander,  I  had  a  reason  for  that  too; 
and,  like  my  point,  it  is  a  good  one.  But  do  not 
ask  me  for  it  to-night.  To-morrow  I  will  tell  you 
everything.  But  it  will  have  to  be  in  the  place  I 


WITH  HER  VEIL  LIFTED  87 

have  mentioned.  Will  you  come  to  the  bluff  where 
the  ruins  are  one-half  hour  before  sunset?  Please, 
be  exact  as  to  the  time.  You  will  see  why,  if  you 
come." 

He  leaned  across  the  table  —  they  were  on  oppo- 
site sides  of  it  —  and  plunging  his  eyes  into  hers 
stood  so,  while  the  clock  ticked  out  one  slow  min- 
ute more,  then  he  drew  back,  and  remarking  with 
an  aspect  of  gloom  but  with  much  less  appearance 
of  distrust: 

"  A  very  odd  request,  madam.  I  hope  you  have 
good  reason  for  it;  "  adding,  "  I  bury  Bela  to-mor- 
row and  the  cemetery  is  in  this  direction.  I  will 
meet  you  where  you  say  and  at  the  hour  you  name." 

And,  regarding  him  closely  as  he  spoke,  she  saw 
that  for  all  the  correctness  of  his  manner  and  the 
bow  of  respectful  courtesy  with  which  he  instantly 
withdrew,  that  deep  would  be  his  anger  and  un- 
questionable the  results  to  her  if  she  failed  to  satisfy 
him  at  this  meeting  of  the  value  of  her  point  in  re- 
awakening justice  and  changing  public  opinion. 


IX 

EXCERPTS 

ONE  of  the  lodgers  at  the  Claymore  Inn  had  great 
cause  for  complaint  the  next  morning.  A  restless 
tramping  over  his  head  had  kept  him  awake  all 
night.  That  it  was  intermittent  had  made  it  all 
the  more  intolerable.  Just  when  he  thought  it  had 
stopped,  it  would  start  up  again, —  to  and  fro,  to 
and  fro,  as  regular  as  clockwork  and  much  more 
disturbing, 

But  the  complaint  never  reached  Mrs.  Averill. 
The  landlady  had  been  restless  herself.  Indeed, 
the  night  had  been  one  of  thought  and  feeling  to 
more  than  one  person  in  whom  we  are  interested. 
The  feeling  we  can  understand;  the  thought  —  that 
is,  Mrs.  Averill's  thought  —  we  should  do  well  to 
follow. 

The  one  great  question  which  had  agitated  her 
was  this:  Should  she  trust  the  judge?  Ever  since 
the  discovery  which  had  changed  Reuther's  pros- 
pects, she  had  instinctively  looked  to  this  one  source 
for  aid  and  sympathy.  Her  reasons  she  has  al- 
ready given.  His  bearing  during  the  trial,  the  com- 
punction he  showed  in  uttering  her  husband's  sen- 
tence were  sufficient  proof  to  her  that  for  all  his 
natural  revulsion  against  the  crime  which  had  robbed 
him  of  his  dearest  friend,  he  was  the  victim  of  an 
undercurrent  of  sympathy  for  the  accused  which 
could  mean  but  one  thing  —  a  doubt  of  the  prison- 
er's actual  guilt. 

88 


EXCERPTS  89 

But  her  faith  had  been  sorely  shaken  in  the  in- 
terview just  related.  He  was  not  the  friend  she 
had  hoped  to  find.  He  had  insisted  upon  her  hus- 
band's guilt,  when  she  had  expected  consideration 
and  a  thoughtful  recapitulation  of  the  evidence; 
and  he  had  remained  unmoved,  or  but  very  little 
moved,  by  the  disappointment  of  his  son  —  his  only 
remaining  link  to  life. 

Why?  Was  the  alienation  between  these  two  so 
complete  as  to  block  out  natural  sympathy?  Had 
the  separation  of  years  rendered  them  callous  to 
every  mutual  impression?  She  dwelt  in  tenderness 
upon  the  bond  uniting  herself  and  Reuther  and  could 
not  believe  in  such  unresponsiveness.  No  parent 
could  carry  resentment  or  even  righteous  anger  so 
far  as  that.  Judge  Ostrander  might  seem  cold, — 
both  manner  and  temper  would  naturally  be  much 
affected  by  his  unique  and  solitary  mode  of  life, — 
but  at  heart  he  must  love  Oliver.  It  was  not  in 
nature  for  it  to  be  otherwise.  And  yet  — 

It  was  at  this  point  in  her  musing  that  there  came 
one  of  the  breaks  in  her  restless  pacing.  She  was 
always  of  an  impulsive  temperament,  and  always 
giving  way  to  it.  Sitting  down  before  paper  and 
ink  she  wrote  the  following  lines: 

My  Darling  if  Unhappy  Child: 

I  know  that  this  sudden  journey  on  my  part  must 
strike  you  as  cruel,  when,  if  ever,  you  need  your  mother's 
presence  and  care.  But  the  love  I  feel  for  you,  my  Reuther, 
is  deep  enough  to  cause  you  momentary  pain  for  the  sake  of 
the  great  good  I  hope  to  bring  you  out  of  this  shadowy 
quest.  I  believe,  what  I  said  to  you  on  leaving,  that  a  great 


90  DARK  HOLLOW 

injustice  was  done  your  father.  Feeling  so,  shall  I  remain 
quiescent  and  see  youth  and  love  slip  from  you,  without  any 
effort  on  my  part  to  set  this  matter  straight?  I  cannot.  I 
have  done  you  the  wrong  of  silence  when  knowledge  would 
have  saved  you  shock  and  bitter  disillusion,  but  I  will  not 
add  to  my  fault  the  inertia  of  a  cowardly  soul.  Have  pa- 
tience with  me,  then ;  and  continue  to  cherish  those  treasures 
of  truth  and  affection  which  you  may  one  day  feel  free  to 
bestow  once  more  upon  one  who  has  a  right  to  each  and  all 
of  them. 

This  is  your  mother's  prayer. 

DEBORAH  SCOVILLE. 

It  was  not  easy  for  her  to  sign  herself  thus.  It 
was  a  name  which  she  had  tried  her  best  to  forget 
for  twelve  long,  preoccupied  years.  But  how  could 
she  use  any  other  in  addressing  her  daughter  who 
had  already  declared  her  intention  of  resuming  her 
father's  name,  despite  the  opprobrium  it  carried  and 
the  everlasting  bar  it  must  in  itself  raise  between 
herself  and  Oliver  Ostrander? 

Deborah  Scoville! 

A  groan  broke  from  her  lips  as  she  rapidly  folded 
that  name  in,  and  hid  it  out  of  sight  in  the  envelope 
she  as  rapidly  addressed. 

But  her  purpose  had  been  accomplished,  or  would 
be  when  once  this  letter  reached  Reuther.  With 
these  words  in  declaration  against  her  she  could  not 
retreat  from  the  stand  she  had  therein  taken.  It 
was  another  instance  of  burning  one's  ships  upon  dis- 
embarking, and  the  effect  made  upon  the  writer 
showed  itself  at  once  in  her  altered  manner.  Hence- 
forth, the  question  should  be  not  what  awaited  her, 
but  how  she  should  show  her  strength  in  face  of 


AFTER  ONE  LOOK  HE  ASSUMED  SOME  SHOW  OF  HIS  OLD 
COMMANDING  PRESENCE  AND  ADVANCED  BRAVELY 
DOWN  THE  STEPS 


EXCERPTS  91 

the  opposition  she  now  expected  to  meet  from  this 
clear-minded,  amply  equipped  lawyer  and  judge  she 
had  called  to  her  aid. 

"  A  task  for  his  equal,  not  for  an  ignorant,  un- 
tried woman  like  myself,"  she  thought;  and,  fol- 
lowing another  of  her  impulses,  she  leaped  from  her 
seat  at  the  table  and  rushed  across  to  her  dresser 
on  which  she  placed  two  candles,  one  at  her  right 
and  another  at  her  left.  Then  she  sat  down  be- 
tween them  and  in  the  stillness  of  midnight  sur- 
veyed herself  in  the  glass,  as  she  might  survey  the 
face  of  a  stranger. 

What  did  she  see?  A  countenance  no  longer 
young,  and  yet  with  some  of  the  charm  of  youth 
still  lingering  in  the  brooding  eyes  and  in  the  danger- 
ous curves  of  a  mobile  and  expressive  mouth.  But 
it  was  not  for  charm  she  was  looking,  but  for  some 
signs  of  power  quite  apart  from  that  of  sex.  Did 
her  face  express  intellect,  persistence  and,  above 
all,  courage?  The  brow  was  good;  —  she  would 
so  characterise  it  in  another.  Surely  a  woman  with 
such  a  forehead  might  do  something  even  against 
odds.  Nor  was  her  chin  weak;  sometimes  she  had 
thought  it  too  pronounced  for  beauty;  but  what  had 
she  to  do  with  beauty  now?  And  the  neck  so 
proudly  erect!  the  heaving  breast!  the  heart  all 
aflame!  Defeat  is  not  for  such;  or  only  such  de- 
feat as  bears  within  it  the  germ  of  future  victory. 

Is  her  reading  correct?  Time  will  prove. 
Meanwhile  she  will  have  confidence  in  herself,  and 
that  this  confidence  might  be  well  founded  she  de- 
cided to  spend  the  rest  of  the  night  in  formulating 


92  DARK  HOLLOW 

her  plans  and  laying  out  her  imaginary  campaign. 

Leaving  the  dresser  she  recommenced  that  rapid 
walking  to  and  fro  which  was  working  such  havoc 
in  the  nerves  of  the  man  in  the  room  below  her. 
When  she  paused,  it  was  to  ransack  a  trunk  and 
bring  out  a  flat  wallet  filled  with  newspaper  clip- 
pings, many  of  them  discoloured  by  time,  and  all  of 
them  showing  marks  of  frequent  handling. 

A  handling  now  to  be  repeated.  For  after  a 
few  moments  spent  in  arranging  them,  she  deliber- 
ately set  about  their  complete  reperusal,  a  task  in 
which  it  has  now  become  necessary  for  us  to  join 
her. 

The  first  was  black  with  old  head-lines : 

CRIME  IN    ••'.- 
DARK  HOLLOW 

Algernon  Etheridge,  One  of  Our  Most 

Esteemed  Citizens,  Waylaid  and 

Murdered  at  Long  Bridge. 

A  DIRECT  CLUE 

TO  THE  MURDERER 


The  Stick  With  Which  the  Crime  was  Com- 
mitted Easily  Traced  to  Its  Owner. 
The  Landlord  of  Claymore  Tavern 
in  the  Toils.     He  Denies  His 
Guilt  But  Submits  Sul- 
lenly to  Arrest. 


Particulars  followed. 


EXCERPTS  93 

"  Last  evening  Shelby's  clean  record  was  blackened 
by  outrageous  crime.  Some  time  after  nightfall  a 
carter  was  driving  home  by  Factory  Road,  when  just 
as  he  was  nearing  Long  Bridge  one  of  his  horses  shied 
so  violently  that  he  barely  escaped  being  thrown 
from  his  seat.  As  he  had  never  known  the  animal 
to  shy  like  this  before,  he  was  curious  enough  to  get 
down  and  look  about  him  for  the  cause.  Dark 
Hollow  is  never  light,  but  it  is  impenetrable  after 
dark,  and  not  being  able  to  see  anything,  he  knelt 
down  in  the  road  and  began  to  feel  about  with  his 
hand.  This  brought  results.  In  a  few  moments 
he  came  upon  the  body  of  a  man  lying  without  move- 
ment, and  seemingly  without  life. 

"  Long  Bridge  is  not  a  favourite  spot  at  night, 
and,  knowing  that  in  all  probability  an  hour  might 
elapse  before  assistance  would  arrive  in  the  shape  of 
another  passer-by,  he  decided  to  carry  his  story 
straight  to  Claymore  Tavern.  Afterwards  he  was 
heard  to  declare  that  it  was  fortunate  his  horses  were 
headed  that  way  instead  of  the  other,  or  he  might 
have  missed  seeing  the  skulking  figure  which,  slipped 
down  into  the  ravine  as  he  made  the  turn  at  the  far 
end  of  the  bridge  —  a  figure  which  had  no  other 
response  to  his  loud  '  Hola ! '  than  a  short  cough,  hur- 
riedly choked  back.  He  could  not  see  the  face  or 
identify  the  figure,  but  he  knew  the  cough.  He  had 
heard  it  a  hundred  times;  and,  saying  to  himself, 
*  I'll  find  fellers  enough,  at  the  tavern,  but  there's 
one  I  won't  find  there  and  that's  John  Scoville,'  he 
whipped  his  horse  up  the  hill  and  took  the  road  to 
Claymore. 


94  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  And  he  was  right.  A  dozen  fellows  started  up 
at  his  call,  but  Scoville  was  not  among  them.  He 
had  been  out  for  two  hours;  which  the  carter  hav- 
ing heard,  he  looked  down,  but  said  nothing  except 
'  Come  along,  boys!  I'll  drive  you  to  the  turn  of 
the  bridge.' 

"  But  just  as  they  were  starting  Scoville  appeared. 
He  was  hatless  and  dishevelled  and  reeled  heavily 
with  liquor.  He  also  tried  to  smile,  which  made  the 
carter  lean  quickly  down  and  with  very  little  cere- 
mony drag  him  up  into  the  cart.  So  with  Scoville 
amongst  them  they  rode  quickly  back  to  the  bridge, 
the  landlord  coughing,  the  men  all  grimly  silent. 

"  In  crossing  the  bridge  he  made  more  than  one 
effort  to  escape,  but  the  men  were  determined,  and 
when  they  finally  stooped  over  the  man  lying  in 
Dark  Hollow,  he  was  in  their  midst  and  was  forced 
to  stoop  also. 

"  One  flash  of  the  lantern  told  the  dismal  tale. 
The  man  was  not  only  dead,  but  murdered.  His 
forehead  had  been  battered  in  with  a  knotted  stick; 
all  his  pockets  hung  out  empty;  and  from  the  gen- 
eral disorder  of  his  dress  it  was  evident  that  his 
watch  had  been  torn  away  by  a  ruthless  hand.  But 
the  face  they  failed  to  recognise  till  some  people,  run- 
ning down  from  the  upper  town  where  the  alarm 
had  by  this  time  spread,  sent  up  the  shout  of  *  It's 
Mr.  Etheridge!  Judge  Ostrander's  great  friend. 
Let  some  one  run  and  notify  the  judge.' 

"  But  the  fact  was  settled  long  before  the  judge 
came  upon  the  scene,  and  another  fact  too.  In 


EXCERPTS  95 

beating  the  bushes,  they  had  lighted  on  a  heavy 
stick.  When  it  was  brought  forward  and  held  un- 
der the  strong  light  made  by  a  circle  of  lanterns,  a 
big  movement  took  place  in  the  crowd.  The  stick 
had  been  recognised.  Indeed,  it  was  well  known 
to  all  the  Claymore  men.  They  had  seen  it  in  Sco- 
ville's  hands  a  dozen  times.  Even  he  could  not 
deny  its  ownership;  explaining,  or  trying  to,  that  he 
had  been  in  the  ravine  looking  for  this  stick  only  a 
little  while  before,  and  adding,  as  he  met  their  eyes: 

"  '  I  lost  it  in  these  woods  this  afternoon.  I 
hadn't  anything  to  do  with  this  killing.' 

"  He  had  not  been  accused;  but  he  found  it  impos- 
sible to  escape  after  this,  and  when  at  the  instance 
of  Coroner  Haines  he  was  carefully  looked  over 
and  a  small  red  ribbon  found  in  one  of  his  pockets, 
he  was  immediately  put  under  arrest  and  taken  to 
the  city  lock-up.  For  the  ribbon  had  been  identi- 
fied as  well  as  the  stick.  Oliver  Ostrander,  who 
had  accompanied  his  father  to  the  scene  of  crime, 
declared  that  he  had  observed  it  that  very  after- 
noon, dangling  from  one  end  of  Mr.  Etheridge's 
watch-chain  where  it  had  been  used  to  fasten  tem- 
porarily a  broken  link. 

"  As  we  go  to  press  we  hear  that  Judge  Ostrander 
has  been  prostrated  by  this  blow.  The  deceased 
had  been  playing  chess  up  at  his  house,  and  in  taking 
the  short  cut  home  had  met  with  his  death. 

"  Long  Bridge  should  be  provided  with  lights.  It 
is  a  dangerous  place  for  foot  passengers  on  a  dark 
night." 


96  DARK  HOLLOW 

A  later  paragraph. 

u  The  detectives  were  busy  this  morning,  going 
over  the  whole  ground  in  the  vicinity  of  the  bridge. 

"  They  were  rewarded  by  two  important  discov- 
eries. The  impression  of  a  foot  in  a  certain  soft 
place  halfway  up  the  bluff;  and  a  small  heap  of  fresh 
earth  nearby  which,  on  being  dug  into,  revealed  the 
watch  of  the  murdered  man.  The  broken  chain 
lay  with  it. 

"  The  footprint  has  been  measured.  It  coincides 
exactly  with  the  shoe  worn  that  night  by  the  suspect. 

"  The  case  will  be  laid  before  the  Grand  Jury  next 
week." 

"  The  prisoner  continues  to  deny  his  guilt.  The 
story  he  gives  out  is  to  the  effect  that  he  left  the  tav- 
ern some  few  minutes  before  seven  o'clock,  to  look 
for  his  child  who  had  wandered  into  the  ravine.  That 
he  entered  the  woods  from  the  road  running  by  his 
house,  and  was  searching  the  bushes  skirting  the 
stream  when  he  heard  little  Reuther's  shout  from 
somewhere  up  on  the  bluff.  He  had  his  stick  with 
him,  for  he  never  went  out  without  it,  but,  finding 
it  in  his  way,  he  leaned  it  against  a  tree  and  went 
plunging  up  the  bluff  without  it.  Why  he  didn't 
call  out  the  child's  name  he  doesn't  know;  he  guessed 
he  thought  he  would  surprise  her;  and  why,  when 
he  got  to  the  top  of  the  bluff  and  didn't  find  her,  he 
should  turn  about  for  his  stick  instead  of  hunting 
for  her  on  the  road,  he  also  fails  to  explain,  saying 
again,  he  doesn't  know.  What  circumstances  force 


EXCERPTS  97 

him  to  tell  and  what  he  declares  to  be  true  is  this: 
That  instead  of  going  back  diagonally  through  the 
woods  to  the  lone  chestnut  where  he  had  left  his 
stick,  he  crossed  the  bridge  and  took  the  path  run- 
ning along  the  edge  of  the  ravine:  That  in  doing 
this  he  came  upon  the  body  of  a  man  in  the  black 
recesses  of  the  Hollow,  a  man  so  evidently  be- 
yond all  help  that  he  would  have  hurried  by  without 
a  second  look  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  watch  he  saw 
lying  on  the  ground  close  to  the  dead  man's  side. 
It  was  a  very  fine  watch,  and  it  seemed  like  tempting 
Providence  to  leave  it  lying  there  exposed  to  the 
view  of  any  chance  tramp  who  might  come  along. 
It  seemed  better  for  him  to  take  it  into  his  own 
charge  till  he  found  some  responsible  person  willing 
to  carry  it  to  Police  Headquarters.  So,  without 
stopping  to  consider  what  the  consequences  might 
be  to  himself,  he  tore  it  away  by  the  chain  from  the 
hold  it  had  on  the  dead  man's  coat  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket.  He  also  took  some  other  little  things; 
after  which  he  fled  away  into  town,  where  the  sight 
of  a  saloon  was  too  much  for  him  and  he  went  in  to 
have  a  drink  to  take  the  horrors  out  of  him.  Since 
then,  the  detectives  have  followed  all  his  movements 
and  know  just  how  much  liquor  he  drank  and  to 
whom,  in  tipsy  bravado,  he  showed  the  contents  of 
his  pockets.  But  he  wasn't  so  far  gone  as  not  to 
have  moments  of  apprehension  when  he  thought  of 
the  dead  man  lying  with  his  feet  in  Dark  Hollow, 
and  of  the  hue  and  cry  which  would  soon  be  raised, 
and  what  folks  might  think  if  that  accursed  watch 


98  DARK  HOLLOW, 

he  had  taken  so  innocently  should  be  found  in  his 
pocket  Finally  his  fears  overcame  his  scruples, 
and,  starting  for  home,  he  stopped  at  the  bluff, 
meaning  to  run  down  over  the  bridge  and  drop  the 
watch  as  near  as  possible  to  the  spot  where  he  had 
found  it.  But  as  he  turned  to  descend,  he  heard  a 
team  approaching  from  the  other  side  and,  terrified 
still  more,  he  dashed  into  the  woods,  and,  tearing  up 
the  ground  with  his  hands,  buried  his  booty  in  the 
loose  soil,  and  made  for  home.  Even  then  he  had 
no  intention  of  appropriating  the  watch,  only  of 
safe-guarding  himself,  nor  did  he  have  any  hand  at 
all  in  the  murder  of  Mr.  Etheridge.  This  he  would 
swear  to;  also,  to  the  leaving  of  the  stick  where  he 
said. 

"  It  is  understood  that  in  case  of  his  indictment,  his 
lawyer  will  follow  the  line  of  defence  thus  indicated." 

"  To-day,  John  Scoville  was  taken  to  the  tree 
where  he  insists  he  left  his  stick.  It  is  a  big  chestnut 
some  hundred  and  fifty  feet  beyond  the  point  where 
the  ravine  turns  west.  It  has  a  big  enough  trunk  for 
a  stick  to  stand  upright  against  it,  as  was  shown  by 
Inspector  Snow  who  had  charge  of  this  affair.  But 
we  are  told  that  after  demonstrating  this  fact  with 
the  same  bludgeon  which  had  done  its  bloody  work 
in  the  Hollow,  the  prisoner  showed  a  sudden  inter- 
est in  this  weapon  and  begged  to  see  it  closer.  This 
being  granted,  he  pointed  out  where  a  splinter  or 
two  had  been  freshly  whittled  from  the  handle,  and 
declared  that  no  knife  had  touched  it  while  it  re- 


EXCERPTS  99 

mained  in  his  hands.  But,  as  he  had  no  evidence 
to  support  this  statement  (a  knife  having  been  found 
amongst  the  other  effects  taken  from  his  pocket  at 
the  time  of  his  arrest),  the  impression  made  by  this 
declaration  is  not  likely  to  go  far  towards  influenc- 
ing public  opinion  in  his  favour. 

"  A  true  bill  was  found  to-day  against  John  Sco- 
ville  for  the  murder  of  Algernon  Etheridge." 

A  third  clipping: 

"  We  feel  it  our  duty,  as  the  one  independent 
paper  of  this  city,  to  insist  upon  the  right  of  a  man 
to  the  consideration  of  the  public  till  a  jury  of  his 
peers  has  pronounced  upon  his  guilt  and  thus  ren- 
dered him  a  criminal  before  the  law.  The  way  our 
hitherto  sufficiently  respected  citizen,  John  Scoville, 
has  been  maligned  and  his  every  fault  and  failing 
magnified  for  the  delectation  of  a  greedy  public  is 
unworthy  of  a  Christian  community.  No  man  saw 
him  kill  Algernon  Etheridge,  and  he  himself  denies 
most  strenuously  that  he  did  so,  yet  from  the  first 
moment  of  his  arrest  till  now,  not  a  voice  has  been 
raised  in  his  favour,  or  the  least  account  taken  of 
his  defence.  Yet  he  is  the  husband  of  an  estimable 
wife  and  the  father  of  a  child  of  such  exceptional 
loveliness  that  she  has  been  the  petted  darling  of 
high  and  low  ever  since  John  Scoville  became  the 
proprietor  of  Claymore  Tavern. 

"  Give  the  man  a  chance.  It  is  our  wish  to  see 
justice  vindicated  and  the  guilty  punished;  but  not 
before  the  jury  has  pronounced  its  verdict." 


ioo  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  The  Star  was  his  only  friend,"  sighed  Deborah 
Scoville,  as  she  laid  this  clipping  aside  and  took  up 
another  headed  by  a  picture  of  her  husband.  This 
picture  she  subjected  to  the  same  scrutiny  she  had 
just  given  to  her  own  reflection  in  the  glass :  "  See- 
ing him  anew,"  as  she  said  to  herself,  "  after  all 
these  years  of  determined  forgetfulness." 

It  was  not  an  unhandsome  face.  Indeed,  it  was 
his  good  looks  which  had  prevailed  over  her  judg- 
ment in  the  early  days  of  their  courtship.  Reuther 
had  inherited  her  harmony  of  feature  from  him, — 
the  chiselled  nose,  the  well-modelled  chin,  and  all  the 
other  physical  graces  which  had  made  him  a  fine 
figure  behind  his  bar.  But  even  with  the  softening 
of  her  feelings  towards  him  since  she  had  thus  set 
herself  up  in  his  defence,  Deborah  could  not  fail  to 
perceive  under  all  these  surface  attractions  an  ex- 
pression of  unreliability,  or,  as  some  would  say,  of 
actual  cruelty.  Ruddy-haired  and  fair  of  skin,  he 
should  have  had  an  optimistic  temperament;  but,  on 
the  contrary,  he  was  of  a  gloomy  nature,  and  only 
infrequently  social.  No  company  was  better  for  his 
being  in  it.  Never  had  she  seen  any  man  sit  out 
the  evening  with  him  without  effort.  Yet  the  house 
had  prospered.  How  often  had  she  said  to  herself, 
in  noting  these  facts:  "  Yet  the  house  prospers!  " 
There  was  always  money  in  the  till  even  when  the 
patronage  was  small.  Their  difficulties  were  never 
financial  ones.  She  was  still  living  on  the  proceeds 
of  what  they  had  laid  by  in  those  old  days. 

Her  mind  continued  to   plunge  back.     He  had 


EXCERPTS  101 

had  no  business  worries;  yet  his  temper  was  always 
uncertain.  She  had  not  often  suffered  from  it  her- 
self, for  her  ascendency  over  men  extended  even  to 
him.  But  Reuther  had  shrunk  before  it  more  than 
once  —  the  gentle  Reuther,  who  was  the  refined, 
the  etherealised  picture  of  himself.  And  he  had 
loved  the  child  as  well  as  he  could  love  anybody. 
Great  gusts  of  fondness  would  come  over  him  at 
times,  and  then  he  would  pet  and  cajole  the  child 
almost  beyond  a  parent's  prerogative.  But  he  was 
capable  of  striking  her  too  —  had  struck  her  fre- 
quently. And  for  nothing  —  an  innocent  look;  a 
shrinking  movement;  a  smile  when  he  wasn't  in  the 
mood  for  smiles.  It  was  for  this  Deborah  had 
hated  him;  and  it  was  for  this  the  mother  in  her 
now  held  him  responsible  for  the  doubts  which  had 
shadowed  their  final  parting.  Was  not  the  man, 
who  could  bring  his  hand  down  upon  so  frail  and  ex- 
quisite a  creature  as  Reuther  was  in  those  days, 
capable  of  any  act  of  violence?  Yes;  but  in  this 
case  he  had  been  guiltless.  She  could  not  but  con- 
cede this  even  while  yielding  to  extreme  revulsion  as 
she  laid  his  picture  aside. 

The  next  slip  she  took  up  contained  an  eulogy  of 
the  victim. 

"  The  sudden  death  of  Algernon  Etheridge  has 
been  in  more  than  one  sense  a  great  shock  to  the  com- 
munity. Though  a  man  of  passive  rather  than  ac- 
tive qualities,  his  scholarly  figure,  long,  lean  and 
bowed,  has  been  seen  too  often  in  our  streets  not 


102  DARK  HOLLOW 

to  be  missed,  when  thus  suddenly  withdrawn.  His 
method  of  living;  the  rigid  habits  of  an  almost  as- 
cetic life;  such  an  hour  for  this  thing,  such  an  hour 
for  that  —  his  smile,  which  made  you  soon  forget 
his  irascibility  and  pride  of  learning;  made  up  a 
character  unique  in  our  town  and  one  that  we  can 
ill  afford  to  spare.  The  closed  doors  of  the  little 
cottage,  so  associated  with  his  name  that  it  will  be 
hard  to  imagine  it  occupied  by  any  one  else,  pos- 
sess a  pathos  of  their  own  which  is  felt  by  young 
and  old  alike.  The  gate  that  never  would  latch, 
the  garden,  where  at  a  stated  hour  in  the  morning 
his  bowed  figure  would  always  be  seen  hoeing  or 
weeding  or  raking,  the  windows  without  curtains 
showing  the  stacks  of  books  within,  are  eloquent  of 
a  presence  gone,  which  can  never  be  duplicated. 
Alone  on  its  desolate  corner,  it  seems  to  mourn  the 
child,  the  boy,  the  man  who  gave  it  life,  and  made 
it,  in  its  simplicity,  more  noted  and  more  frequently 
pointed  at  than  any  other  house  in  town. 

"  Why  he  should  have  become  the  target  of  Fate 
is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  life.  His  watch,  which 
aside  from  his  books  was  his  most  valuable  posses- 
sion, was  the  gift  of  Judge  Ostrander.  That  it 
should  be  associated  in  any  way  with  the  tragic  cir- 
cumstances of  his  death  is  a  source  of  the  deepest 
regret  to  the  unhappy  donor." 

This  excerpt  she  hardly  looked  at;  but  the  fol- 
lowing she  studied  carefully: 

"  Judge  Ostrander  has  from  the  first  expressed  a 


EXCERPTS  103 

strong  desire  that  some  associate  judge  should  be 
called  upon  to  preside  over  the  trial  of  John  Scoville 
for  the  murder  of  Algernon  Etheridge.  But  Judge 
Saunders'  sudden  illness  and  Judge  Dole's  departure 
for  Europe  have  put  an  end  to  these  hopes.  Judge 
Ostrander  will  take  his  seat  on  the  bench  as  usual 
next  Monday.  Fortunately  for  the  accused,  his 
well-known  judicial  mind  will  prevent  any  unfair 
treatment  of  the  defence." 

"  The  prosecution,  in  the  able  hands  of  District 
Attorney  Foss,  made  all  its  points  this  morning. 
Unless  the  defence  has  some  very  strong  plea  in  the 
background,  the  verdict  seems  foredoomed.  A  dog- 
ged look  has  replaced  the  callous  and  indifferent 
sneer  on  the  prisoner's  face,  and  sympathy,  if  sym- 
pathy there  is,  is  centred  entirely  upon  the  wife,  the 
able,  agreeable  and  bitterly  humiliated  landlady  of 
Claymore  Tavern.  She  it  is  who  has  attracted  the 
most  attention  during  this  trial,  little  as  she  seems  to 
court  it." 

"  Only  one  new  detail  of  evidence  was  laid  before 
the  jury  to-day.  Scoville  has  been  known  for  some 
time  to  have  a  great  hankering  after  a  repeating 
watch.  He  had  once  seen  that  of  Algernon  Ethe- 
ridge, and  was  never  tired  of  talking  about  it.  Sev- 
eral witnesses  testified  to  his  various  remarks  on  this 
subject.  Thus  the  motive  for  his  dastardly  assault 
upon  an  unoffending  citizen,  which  to  many  minds 
has  seemed  lacking,  has  been  supplied. 


J04  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  The  full  particulars  of  this  day's  proceedings  will 
be  found  below." 

We  omit  these  to  save  repetition;  but  they  were 
very  carefully  conned  by  Deborah  Scoville.  Also 
the  following: 

"  The  defence  is  in  a  line  with  the  statement  al- 
ready given  out.  The  prisoner  acknowledges  tak- 
ing the  watch  but  from  motives  quite  opposed  to 
those  of  thievery.  Unfortunately  he  can  produce 
no  witnesses  to  substantiate  his  declaration  that  he 
had  heard  voices  in  the  direction  of  the  bridge  while 
he  was  wandering  the  woods  in  search  of  his  lost 
child.  No  evidence  of  any  other  presence  there  is 
promised  or  likely  to  be  produced.  It  was  thought 
that  when  his  wife  was  called  to  the  stand  she  might 
have  something  to  say  helpful  to  his  case.  She  had 
been  the  one  to  ultimately  find  and  lead  home  the 
child,  and,  silent  as  she  had  been  up  to  this  time,  it 
has  been  thought  possible  that  she  might  swear  to 
having  heard  these  voices  also. 

"  But  her  testimony  was  very  disappointing.  She 
had  seen  nobody,  heard  nobody  but  the  child  whom 
she  had  found  playing  with  stones  in  the  old  ruin. 
Though  by  a  close  calculation  of  time  she  could  not 
have  been  far  from  Dark  Hollow  at  the  instant  of 
the  crime,  yet  neither  on  direct  or  cross-examination 
could  anything  more  be  elicited  from  her  than  what 
has  been  mentioned  above.  Nevertheless,  we  feel 
obliged  to  state  that,  irreproachable  as  her  conduct 
was  on  the  stand,  the  impression  she  made  was,  on 


EXCERPTS  105 

the  whole,  whether  intentionally  or  unintentionally, 
unfavourable  to  her  husband. 

"  Some  anxiety  was  felt  during  the  morning  session 
that  an  adjournment  would  have  to  be  called,  owing 
to  some  slight  signs  of  indisposition  on  the  part  of 
the  presiding  judge.  But  he  rallied  very  speedily, 
and  the  proceedings  continued  without  interruption." 

"Ah!" 

The  exclamation  escaped  the  lips  of  Deborah  Sco- 
ville  as  she  laid  this  clipping  aside.  "  I  remember 
his  appearance  well.  He  had  the  ghost  of  one  of 
those  attacks,  the  full  force  of  which  I  was  a  witness 
to  this  morning.  I  am  sure  of  this  now,  though 
nobody  thought  of  it  then.  I  happened  to  glance 
his  way  as  I  left  the  stand,  and  he  was  certainly  for 
one  minute  without  consciousness  of  himself  or  his 
surroundings.  But  it  passed  so  quickly  it  drew  lit- 
tle attention;  not  so,  the  attack  of  to-day.  What  a 
misfortune  rests  upon  this  man.  Will  they  let  him 
continue  on  the  bench  when  his  full  condition  is 
known?  "  These  were  her  thoughts,  as  she  recalled 
that  day  and  compared  it  with  the  present. 

There  were  other  slips,  which  she  read  but  which 
we  may  pass  by.  The  fate  of  the  prisoner  was  in 
the  hands  of  a  jury.  The  possibility  suggested  by 
the  defence  made  no  appeal  to  men  who  had  the 
unfortunate  prisoner  under  their  eye  at  every  stage 
of  the  proceedings.  The  shifty  eye,  the  hang-dog 
look,  outweighed  the  plea  of  his  counsel  and  the  call 
for  strict  impartiality  from  the  bench.  He  was  ad- 


io6  DARK  HOLLOW 

judged  guilty  of  murder  in  the  first  degree,  and  sen- 
tence called  for. 

This  was  the  end;  and  as  she  read  these  words, 
the  horror  which  overwhelmed  her  was  infinitely 
greater  than  when  she  heard  them  uttered  in  that 
fatal  court  room.  For  then  she  regarded  him  as 
guilty  and  deserving  his  fate  and  now  she  knew  him 
to  be  innocent. 

Well,  well !  too  much  dwelling  on  this  point  would 
only  unfit  her  for  what  lay  before  her  on  the  mor- 
row. She  would  read  no  more.  Sleep  were  a  bet- 
ter preparation  for  her  second  interview  with  the 
judge  than  this  reconsideration  of  facts  already 
known  to  their  last  detail. 

Alas,  when  her  eyelids  finally  obeyed  the  dictates 
of  her  will,  the  first  glimmering  rays  of  dawn  were 
beginning  to  scatter  the  gloom  of  her  darkened  cham- 
ber! 


X 

THE    SHADOW 

BELA  was  to  be  buried  at  four.  As  Judge  Os- 
trander  prepared  to  lock  his  gate  behind  the  simple 
cortege  which  was  destined  to  grow  into  a  vast  crowd 
before  it  reached  the  cemetery,  he  was  stopped  by 
the  sergeant  who  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  I  thought  your  honour  might  like  to  know  that 
the  woman  —  you  know  the  one  I  mean  without  my 
naming  her  —  has  been  amusing  herself  this  morning 
in  a  very  peculiar  manner.  She  broke  down  some 
branches  in  the  ravine, —  small  ones,  of  course, — 
and  would  give  no  account  of  herself  when  one  of 
my  men  asked  her  what  she  was  up  to.  It  may  mean 
nothing,  but  I  thought  you  would  like  to  know." 

"  Have  you  found  out  who  she  is?  " 

"  No,  sir.  The  man  couldn't  very  well  ask  her  to 
lift  her  veil,  and  at  the  tavern  they  have  nothing 
to  say  about  her." 

"  It's  a  small  matter.  I  will  see  her  myself  to- 
day and  find  out  what  she  wants  of  me.  Mean- 
while, remember  that  I  leave  this  house  and  grounds 
absolutely  to  your  protection  for  the  next  three 
hours.  I  shall  be  known  to  be  absent,  so  that  a 
more  careful  watch  than  ever  is  necessary.  Not  a 
man,  boy  or  child  is  to  climb  the  fence.  I  may  rely 
on  you?  " 

107 


io8  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  You  may,  judge." 

"  On  my  return  you  can  all  go.  I  will  guard  my 
own  property  after  to-day.  You  understand  me, 
sergeant?  " 

"  Perfectly,  your  honour." 

This  ended  the  colloquy. 

Spencer's  Folly,  as  the  old  ruin  on  the  bluff  was 
called  in  memory  of  the  vanished  magnificence  which 
was  once  the  talk  of  the  county,  presented  a  very 
different  appearance  to  the  eye  in  broad  daylight 
from  what  it  did  at  night  with  a  low  moon  sending 
its  mellow  rays  through  the  great  gap  made  in  its 
walls  by  that  ancient  stroke  of  lightning.  Even  the 
enkindling  beams  of  the  westering  sun  striking  level 
through  the  forest  failed  to  adorn  its  broken  walls 
and  battered  foundations.  To  the  judge,  approach- 
ing it  from  the  highway,  it  was  as  ugly  a  sight  as  the 
world  contained.  He  hated  its  arid  desolation  and 
all  the  litter  of  blackened  bricks  blocking  up  the  site 
of  former  feastings  and  reckless  merriment,  and, 
above  all,  the  incongruous  aspect  of  the  one  gable 
still  standing  undemolished,  with  the  zigzag  marks 
of  vanished  staircases  outlined  upon  its  mildewed 
walls.  But,  most  of  all,  he  shrank  from  a  sight  of 
the  one  corner  still  intact  where  the  ghosts  of  dead 
memories  lingered,  making  the  whole  place  horrible 
to  his  eye  and  one  to  be  shunned  by  all  men.  How 
long  it  had  been  shunned  by  him  he  realised  when  he 
noticed  the  increased  decay  of  the  walls  and  the 
growth  of  the  verdure  encompassing  the  abominable 
place ! 


THE  SHADOW  109 

The  cemetery  from  which  he  had  come  looked 
less  lonesome  to  his  eyes  and  far  less  ominous;  and, 
for  a  passing  instant,  as  he  contemplated  the  scene 
hideous  with  old  memories  and  threatening  new 
sorrows,  he  envied  Bela  his  narrow  bed  and  honour- 
able rest. 

A  tall  figure  and  an  impressive  presence  are  not 
without  their  disadvantages.  This  he  felt  as  he  left 
the  highway  arid  proceeded  up  the  path  which  had 
once  led  through  a  double  box  hedge  to  the  high, 
pillared  entrance.  He  abhorred  scandal  and  shrank 
with  almost  a  woman's  distaste  from  anything  which 
savoured  of  the  clandestine.  Yet  here  he  was  about 
to  meet  on  a  spot  open  to  the  view  of  every  pass- 
ing vehicle,  a  woman  who,  if  known  to  him,  was  a 
mystery  to  every  one  else.  His  expression  showed 
the  scorn  with  which  he  regarded  his  own  compli- 
ance, yet  he  knew  that  no  instinct  of  threatened  dig- 
nity, no  generous  thought  for  her  or  selfish  one  for 
himself  would  turn  him  back  from  this  interview 
till  he  had  learned  what  she  had  to  tell  him  and  why 
she  had  so  carefully  exacted  that  he  should  hear  her 
story  in  a  spot  overlooking  the  Hollow  it  would  be- 
seem them  both  to  shun. 

There  had  originally  been  in  the  days  of  Spencer's 
magnificence  a  lordly  portico  at  the  end  of  this  ap- 
proach, girt  by  pillars  of  extraordinary  height.  But 
no  sign  remained  of  pillar  or  doorway  —  only  a 
gap,  as  I  have  said.  Towards  this  gap  he  stepped, 
feeling  a  strange  reluctance  in  entering  it.  But  he 
had  no  choice.  He  knew  what  he  should  see  —  No, 


no  DARK  HOLLOW 

he  did  not  know  what  he  should  see,  for  when  he 
finally  stepped  in,  it  was  not  an  open  view  of  the 
Hollow  which  met  his  eyes,  but  the  purple-clad  fig- 
ure of  Mrs.  Averill  with  little  Peggy  at  her  side. 
He  had  not  expected  to  see  the  child,  and,  standing 
as  they  were  with  their  backs  to  him,  they  presented 
a  picture  which,  for  some  reason  to  be  found  in  the 
mysterious  recesses  of  his  disordered  mind,  was  ex- 
ceedingly repellent  to  him.  Indeed,  he  was  so 
stricken  by  it  that  he  had  actually  made  a  move  to 
withdraw,  when  the  exigency  of  the  occasion  returned 
upon  him  in  full  force,  and,  with  a  smothered  oath, 
he  overcame  his  weakness  and  stepped  firmly  up  into 
the  ruins. 

The  noise  he  made  should  have  caused  Deborah's 
tall  and  graceful  figure  to  turn.  But  the  spell  of 
her  own  thoughts  was  too  great;  and  he  would  have 
found  himself  compelled  to  utter  the  first  word,  if 
the  child,  who  had  heard  him  plainly  enough,  had 
not  dragged  at  the  woman's  hand  and  so  woke  her 
from  her  dream. 

"  Ah,  Judge  Ostrander,"  she  exclaimed  in  a  hasty 
but  not  ungraceful  greeting,  "  you  are  very  punc- 
tual. I  was  not  looking  for  you  yet."  Then,  as 
she  noted  the  gloom  under  which  he  was  labouring, 
she  continued  with  real  feeling,  "  Indeed,  I  appre- 
ciate this  sacrifice  you  have  made  to  my  wishes.  It 
was  asking  a  great  deal  of  you  to  come  here ;  but  I 
saw  no  other  way  of  making  my  point  clear.  Come 
over  here,  Peggy,  and  build  me  a  little  house  out  of 
these  stones.  You  don't  mind  the  child,  do  you, 


THE  SHADOW  in 

judge?  She  may  offer  a  diversion  if  our  retreat  is 
invaded." 

The  gesture  of  disavowal  which  he  made  was 
courteous  but  insincere.  He  did  mind  the  child, 
but  he  could  not  explain  why;  besides  he  must  over- 
come such  folly. 

Ci  Now,"  she  continued  as  she  rejoined  him  on  the 
place  where  he  had  taken  his  stand,  "  I  will  ask  you 
to  go  back  with  me  to  the  hour  when  John  Scoville 
left  the  tavern  on  that  fatal  day.  I  am  not  now  on 
oath,  but  I  might  as  well  be  for  any  slip  I  shall  make 
in  the  exact  truth.  I  was  making  pies  in  the  kitchen, 
when  some  one  came  running  in  to  say  that  Reuther 
had  strayed  away  from  the  front  yard.  She  was 
about  the  age  of  the  little  one  over  there,  and  we 
never  allowed  her  out  alone  for  fear  of  her  tumbling 
off  the  bluff.  So  I  set  down  the  pie  I  was  just  put- 
ting in  the  oven,  and  was  about  to  run  out  after  her 
when  my  husband  called  to  me  from  the  front,  and 
said  he  would  go.  I  didn't  like  his  tone  —  it  was 
sullen  and  impatient,  but  I  knew  he  loved  the  child 
too  well  to  see  her  suffer  any  danger,  and  so  I  settled 
back  to  work  and  was  satisfied  enough  till  the  pies 
were  all  in.  Then  I  got  uneasy,  and,  hearing  noth- 
ing of  either  of  them,  I  started  in  this  direction  be- 
cause they  told  me  John  had  taken  the  other.  And 
here  I  found  her,  sir,  right  in  the  heart  of  these 
ruins.  She  was  playing  with  stones  just  as  Peggy 
dear  is  doing  now.  Greatly  relieved,  I  was  taking 
her  away  when  I  thought  I  heard  John  calling. 
Stepping  up  to  the  edge  just  behind  where  you  are 


H2  DARK  HOLLOW 

standing,  sir  —  yes,  there,  where  you  get  such  a 
broad  outlook  up  and  down  the  ravine,  I  glanced  in 
the  direction  from  which  I  had  heard  his  call  — 
Just  wait  a  moment,  sir;  I  want  to  know  the  exact 
time." 

Stopping,  she  pulled  out  her  watch  and  looked  at 
it,  while  he,  faltering  up  to  the  verge  which  she  had 
pointed  out,  followed  her  movements  with  strange 
intensity  as  she  went  on  to  say  in  explanation  of  her 
act: 

"  The  time  is  important,  on  account  of  a  cer- 
tain demonstration  I  am  anxious  to  make.  You  will 
remember  that  I  was  expecting  to  see  John,  having 
heard  his  voice  in  the  ravine.  Now  if  you  will  lean 
a  little  forward  and  look  where  I  am  pointing,  you 
will  notice  at  the  turn  of  the  stream,  a  spot  of  ground 
more  open  than  the  rest.  Please  keep  your  eyes 
on  that  spot,  for  it  was  there  I  saw  at  this  very  hour 
twelve  years  ago  the  shadow  of  an  approaching  fig- 
ure; and  it  is  there  you  will  presently  see  one  simi- 
lar, if  the  boy  I  have  tried  to  interest  in  this  experi- 
ment does  not  fail  me.  Now,  now,  sir!  We 
should  see  his  shadow  before  we  see  him.  Oh,  I 
hope  the  underbrush  and  trees  have  not  grown  up 
too  thick!  I  tried  to  thin  them  out  to-day.  Are 
you  watching,  sir?  " 

He  seemed  to  be,  but  she  dared  not  turn  to  look. 
Both  figures  leaned,  intent,  and  in  another  moment 
she  had  gripped  his  arm  and  clung  there. 

"Did  you  see?"  she  whispered.     "Don't  mind 


THE  SHADOW  113 

the  boy;  it's  the  shadow  I  wanted  you  to  notice. 
Did  you  observe  anything  marked  about  it?" 

She  had  drawn  him  back  into  the  ruins.  They 
were  standing  in  that  one  secluded  corner  under  the 
ruinous  gable,  and  she  was  gazing  up  at  him  very 
earnestly.  "  Tell  me,  judge,"  she  entreated  as  he 
made  no  effort  to  answer. 

With  a  hurried  moistening  of  his  lips,  he  met  her 
look  and  responded,  with  a  slight  emphasis: 

"  The  boy  held  a  stick.  I  should  say  that  he  was 
whittling  it." 

"Ah!"  Her  tone  was  triumphant.  "That 
was  what  I  told  him  to  do.  Did  you  see  anything 
else?" 

"  No.  I  do  not  understand  this  experiment  or 
what  you  hope  from  it." 

"  I  will  tell  you.  The  shadow  which  I  saw  at  a 
moment  very  like  this,  twelve  years  ago,  showed  a 
man  whittling  a  stick  and  wearing  a  cap  with  a  de- 
cided peak  in  front.  My  husband  wore  such  a  cap 
—  the  only  one  I  knew  of  in  town.  What  more 
did  I  need  as  proof  that  it  was  his  shadow  I  saw?  " 

"And  wasn't  it?" 

"  Judge  Ostrander,  I  never  thought  differently 
till  after  the  trial  —  till  after  the  earth  closed  over 
my  poor  husband's  remains.  That  was  why  I  could 
say  nothing  in  his  defence  —  why  I  did  not  believe 
him  when  he  declared  that  he  had  left  his  stick  be- 
hind him  when  he  ran  up  the  bluff  after  Reuther. 
The  tree  he  pointed  out  as  the  one  against  which  he 


ii4  DARK  HOLLOW 

had  stood  it,  was  far  behind  the  place  where  I  saw 
this  advancing  shadow.  Even  the  oath  he  made  to 
me  of  his  innocence  at  the  last  interview  we  held  in 
prison  did  not  impress  me  at  the  time  as  truthful. 
But  later,  when  it  was  all  over,  when  the  disgrace 
of  his  death  and  the  necessity  of  seeking  a  home  else- 
where drove  me  into  selling  the  tavern  and  all  its 
effects,  I  found  something  which  changed  my  mind 
in  this  regard,  and  made  me  confident  that  I  had 
done  my  husband  a  great  injustice." 

"You  found?  What  do  you  mean  by  that? 
What  could  you  have  found?  " 

"  His  peaked  cap  lying  in  a  corner  of  the  garret. 
He  had  not  worn  it  that  day." 

The  judge  stared.  She  repeated  her  statement, 
and  with  more  emphasis: 

"  He  had  not  worn  it  that  day;  for  when  he  came 
back  to  be  hustled  off  again  by  the  crowd,  he  was 
without  hat  of  any  kind,  and  he  never  returned 
again  to  his  home  —  you  know  that,  judge.  I  had 
seen  the  shadow  of  some  other  man  approaching 
Dark  Hollow.  Whose,  I  am  in  this  town  now  to 
find  out" 


XI 


JUDGE  OSTRANDER  was  a  man  of  keen  perception, 
quick  to  grasp  an  idea,  quick  to  form  an  opinion. 
But  his  mind  acted  slowly  to-night.  Deborah  Sco- 
ville  wondered  at  the  blankness  of  his  gaze  and  the 
slow  way  in  which  he  seemed  to  take  in  this  astound- 
ing fact. 

At  last  he  found  voice  and  with  it  gave  some  evi- 
dence of  his  usual  acumen. 

"  Madam,  a  shadow  is  an  uncertain  foundation 
on  which  to  build  such  an  edifice  as  you  plan.  How 
do  you  know  that  the  fact  you  mention  was  coinci- 
dent with  the  crime?  Mr.  Etheridge's  body  was 
not  found  till  after  dark.  A  dozen  men  might  have 
come  down  that  path  with  or  without  sticks  before 
he  reached  the  bridge  and  fell  a  victim  to  the  as- 
sault which  laid  him  low." 

"  I  thought  the  time  was  pretty  clearly  settled  by 
the  hour  he  left  your  house.  The  sun  had  not  set 
when  he  turned  your  corner  on  his  way  home.  So 
several  people  said  who  saw  him.  Besides  — " 

"  Yes;  there  is  a  besides.     I'm  sure  of  it." 

"  I  saw  the  tall  figure  of  a  man,  whom  I  after- 
wards made  sure  was  Mr.  Etheridge,  coming  down 
Factory  Road  on  his  way  to  the  bridge  when  I  turned 
about  to  get  Reuther." 

"5 


n6  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  All  of  which  you  suppressed  at  the  trial." 

"  I  was  not  questioned  on  this  point,  sir." 

"  Madam," —  he  was  standing  very  near  to  her 
now,  hemming  her  as  it  were  into  that  decaying  cor- 
ner—  "  I  should  have  a  very  much  higher  opinion 
of  your  candour  if  you  told  me  the  whole  story." 

"  I  have,  sir." 

His  hands  rose,  one  to  the  right  hand  wall,  the 
other  to  the  left,  and  remained  there  with  their 
palms  resting  heavily  against  the  rotting  plaster. 
She  was  more  than  ever  hemmed  in;  but,  though  she 
felt  a  trifle  frightened  at  his  aspect  which  certainly 
was  not  usual,  she  faced  him  without  shrinking  and 
in  very  evident  surprise. 

"  You  went  immediately  home  with  the  child  after 
that  glimpse  you  got  of  Mr.  Etheridge?" 

"Yes;  I  had  no  reason  in  the  world  to  suppose 
that  anything  was  going  to  happen  in  the  ravine  be- 
low us.  Of  course,  I  went  straight  on;  there  were 
things  to  be  done  at  home,  and  —  you  don't  believe 
me,  sir." 

His  hands  fell;  an  indefinable  change  had  come 
over  his  aspect;  he  bowed  and  seemed  about  to  ut- 
ter an  ironic  apology.  She  felt  puzzled  and  uncon- 
sciously she  began  to  think.  What  was  lacking  in 
her  statement?  Something.  Could  she  remember 
what?  Something  which  he  had  expected;  some- 
thing which  as  presiding  judge  over  John's  trial  he 
had  been  made  aware  of  and  now  recalled  to  render 
her  story  futile.  It  couldn't  be  that  one  little  thing 
—  But  yes,  it  might  be.  Nothing  is  little  where  a 


"I  WILL  THINK  ABOUT  IT11        117 

great  crime  is  concerned.  She  smiled  a  dubious 
smile,  then  she  said: 

"  It  seems  too  slight  a  fact  to  mention,  and,  in- 
deed, I  had  forgotten  it  till  you  pressed  me,  but  after 
we  had  passed  the  gates  and  were  well  out  on  the 
highway,  I  found  that  Reuther  had  left  her  little 
pail  behind  her  here,  and  we  came  back  and  got  it. 
Did  you  mean  that,  sir?  " 

"  I  meant  nothing;  but  I  felt  sure  you  had  not  told 
all  you  could  about  that  fatal  ten  minutes.  You 
came  back.  It  is  quite  a  walk  from  the  road.  The 
man  whose  shadow  you  saw  must  have  reached  the 
bridge  by  this  time.  What  did  you  see  then  or  — 
hear?" 

"  Nothing.  Absolutely  nothing,  judge.  I  was 
intent  on  finding  the  baby's  pail,  and  having  found  it 
I  hurried  back  home  all  the  faster." 

"  And  tragedy  was  going  on  or  was  just  completed, 
in  plain  sight  from  this  gap !  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt,  sir;  and  if  I  had  looked,  pos- 
sibly John  might  have  been  saved." 

The  silence  following  this  was  broken  by  a  crash 
and  a  little  cry.  Peggy's  house  had  tumbled  down. 

The  small  incident  was  a  relief.  Both  assumed 
more  natural  postures. 

"  So  the  shadow  is  your  great  and  only  point,"  re- 
marked the  judge. 

"  It  is  sufficient  for  me." 

"  Ah,  perhaps." 

"  But  not  enough  for  the  public?" 

"  Hardly." 


n8  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  Not  enough  for  you,  either?  " 

"  Madam,  I  have  already  told  you  that,  in  my 
opinion,  John  Scoville  was  a  guilty  man." 

"  And  this  fact,  with  which  I  have  just  acquainted 
you,  has  done  nothing  to  alter  this  opinion?  " 

"  I  can  only  repeat  what  I  have  just  said." 

"  Oh,  Reuther!     Oh,  Oliver!  " 

"  Do  not  speak  my  son's  name.  I  am  in  no  mood 
for  it.  The  boy  and  girl  are  two  and  can  never 
become  one.  I  have  other  views  for  her  —  she  is 
an  innocent  victim  and  she  has  my  sympathy.  You, 
too,  madam,  though  I  consider  you  as  following  a 
will-o'-the-wisp  which  will  only  lead  you  hopelessly 
astray." 

"  I  shall  not  desist,  Judge  Ostrander."    . 

u  You  are  going  to  pursue  this  Jack-o'-Lanthorn  ?  " 

"  I  am  determined  to.  If  you  deny  me  aid  and 
advice,  I  shall  seek  another  counsellor.  John's 
name  must  be  vindicated." 

"  Obstinacy,  madam." 

"  No;  conscience." 

He  gave  her  a  look,  turned  and  glanced  down  at 
the  child  piling  stone  on  stone  and  whimpering  just 
a  little  when  they  fell. 

"  Watch  that  baby  for  a  while,"  he  remarked, 
"  and  you  will  learn  the  lesson  of  most  human  en- 
deavour. Madam,  I  have  a  proposition  to  make 
you.  You  cannot  wish  to  remain  at  the  inn,  nor  can 
you  be  long  happy  separated  from  your  daughter. 
I  have  lost  Bela.  I  do  not  know  how,  nor  would 
I  be  willing,  to  replace  him  by  another  servant.  I 


"I  WILL  THINK  ABOUT  IT"       119 

need  a  housekeeper;  some  one  devoted  to  my  inter- 
ests and  who  will  not  ask  me  to  change  my  habits 
too  materially.  Will  you  accept  the  position,  if  I 
add  as  an  inducement  my  desire  to  have  Reuther 
also  as  an  inmate  of  my  home?  This  does  not  mean 
that  I  countenance  or  in  any  way  anticipate  her  union 
with  my  son.  I  do  not;  but  any  other  advantages 
she  may  desire,  she  shall  have.  I  will  not  be  strict 
with  her." 

"Judge  Ostrander!" 

Deborah  Scoville  was  never  more  taken  aback  in 
her  life.  The  recluse  opening  his  doors  to  two 
women!  The  man  of  mystery  flinging  aside  the 
reticences  of  years  to  harbour  an  innocence  which  he 
refused  to  let  weigh  against  the  claims  of  a  son  he 
has  seen  fit  to  banish  from  his  heart  and  home ! 

"  You  may  take  time  to  think  of  it,"  he  continued, 
as  he  watched  the  confused  emotions  change  from 
moment  to  moment  the  character  of  her  mobile  fea- 
tures. "  I  shall  not  have  my  affairs  adjusted  for 
such  a  change  before  a  week.  If  you  accept,  I  shall 
be  very  grateful.  If  you  decline,  I  shall  close  up 
my  two  rear  gates,  and  go  into  solitary  seclusion. 
I  can  cook  a  meal  if  I  have  to." 

And  she  saw  that  he  would  do  it;  saw  and  won- 
dered still  more. 

"  I  shall  have  to  write  to  Reuther,"  she  murmured. 
"  How  soon  do  you  want  my  decision?  " 

11  In  four  days." 

"  I  am  too  disturbed  to  thank  you,  judge.  Should 
—  should  we  have  to  keep  the  gates  locked?  " 


120  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  No.  But  you  would  have  to  keep  out  unwel- 
come intruders.  And  the  rights  of  my  library  will 
have  to  be  respected.  In  all  other  regards  I  should 
wish,  under  these  new  circumstances,  to  live  as  other 
people  live.  I  have  been  very  lonely  these  past 
twelve  years." 

"  I  will  think  about  it." 

"  And  you  may  make  note  of  these  two  condi- 
tions: Oliver's  name  is  not  to  be  mentioned  in  my 
hearing,  and  you  and  Reuther  are  to  be  known  by 
your  real  names." 

"  You  would  — " 

"  Yes,  madam.  No  secrecy  is  to  be  maintained 
in  future  as  to  your  identity  or  my  reasons  for  de- 
siring you  in  my  house.  I  need  a  housekeeper  and 
you  please  me.  That  you  have  a  past  to  forget  and 
Reuther  a  disappointment  to  overcome,  gives  addi- 
tional point  to  the  arrangement." 

Her  answer  was : 

"  I  cannot  take  back  what  I  have  said  about  my 
determined  purpose."  In  repeating  this,  she  looked 
up  at  him  askance. 

He  smiled.  She  remembered  that  smile  long 
after  the  interview  was  over  and  only  its  memory 
remained. 


XII 

SOUNDS   IN   THE   NIGHT 

Dearest  Mother: 

Where  could  we  go  that  disgrace  would  not  follow  us? 
Let  us  then  accept  the  judge's  offer.  I  am  the  more  inclined 
to  do  this  because  of  the  possible  hope  that  some  day  he  may 
come  to  care  for  me  and  allow  me  to  make  life  a  little 
brighter  for  him.  The  fact  that  for  some  mysterious  reason 
he  feels  himself  cut  off  from  all  intercourse  with  his  son,  may 
prove  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  us.-  I,  too,  am  cut  off 
from  all  companionship  with  Oliver.  Between  us  also  a  wall 
is  raised.  Do  not  mind  that  tear-drop,  mamma.  It  is  the 
last. 

Kisses  for  my  comforter.     Come  soon. 

REUTHER. 

OVER  this  letter  Deborah  Scoville  sat  for  two  hours, 
then  she  rang  for  Mrs.  Yardley. 

The  maid  who  answered  her  summons  surveyed 
her  in  amazement.  It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had 
seen  her  uncovered  face. 

Mrs.  Yardley  was  not  long  in  coming  up. 

"  Mrs.  Averill — "  she  began  in  a  sort  of  fluster, 
as  she  met  her  strange  guest's  quiet  eye. 

But  she  got  no  further.  That  guest  had  a  correc- 
tion to  make. 

"  My  name  is  not  Averill,"  she  protested.  "  You 
must  excuse  the  temporary  deception.  It  is  Sco- 


122  DARK  HOLLOW 

ville.  I  once  occupied  your  present  position  in  this 
house." 

Mrs.  Yardley  had  heard  all  about  the  Scovilles; 
and,  while  a  flush  rose  to  her  cheeks,  her  eyes 
snapped  with  sudden  interest. 

"  Ah!  "  came  in  quick  exclamation,  followed,  how- 
ever, by  an  apologetic  cough  and  the  somewhat 
forced  and  conventional  remark :  "  You  find  the 
place  changed,  no  doubt?  " 

"  Very  much  so,  and  for  the  better,  Mrs.  Yard- 
ley."  Then,  with  a  straightforward  meeting  of  the 
other's  eye  calculated  to  disarm  whatever  criticism 
the  situation  might  evoke,  she  quietly  added,  "  You 
need  no  longer  trouble  yourself  with  serving  me  my 
meals  in  my  room.  I  will  eat  dinner  in  the  public 
dining-room  to-day  with  the  rest  of  the  boarders. 
I  have  no  further  reason  for  concealing  who  I  am  or 
what  my  future  intentions  are.  I  am  going  to  live 
with  Judge  Ostrander,  Mrs.  Yardley;  —  keep  house 
for  him,  myself  and  daughter.  His  man  is  dead 
and  he  feels  very  helpless.  I  hope  that  I  shall  be 
able  to  make  him  comfortable." 

Mrs.  Yardley's  face  was  a  study.  In  all  her  life 
she  had  never  heard  news  that  surprised  her  more. 
In  fact,  she  was  mentally  aghast.  Judge  Ostrander 
admitting  any  one  into  his  home,  and  this  woman 
above  all!  Yet,  why  not?  He,  certainly,  would 
have  to  have  some  one.  And  this  woman  had  al- 
ways been  known  as  a  notable  housekeeper.  In  an- 
other moment,  she  had  accepted  the  situation,  like 
the  very  sensible  woman  she  was,  and  Mrs.  Scoville 


SOUNDS  IN  THE  NIGHT  123 

had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  promise  of  real 
friendly  support  in  the  smile  with  which  Mrs.  Yard- 
ley  remarked: 

"  It's  a  good  thing  for  you  and  a  very  good  thing 
for  the  judge.  It  may  shake  him  out  of  his  habit 
of  seclusion.  If  it  does,  you  will  be  the  city's  bene- 
factor. Good  luck  to  you,  madam.  And  you  have 
a  daughter,  you  say?  " 

After  Mrs.  Yardley's  departure,  Mrs.  Scoville, 
as  she  now  expected  herself  to  be  called,  sat  for  a 
long  time  brooding.  Would  her  quest  be  facilitated 
or  irretrievably  hindered  by  her  presence  in  the 
judge's  house  ?  She  had  that  yet  to  learn.  Mean- 
while, there  was  one  thing  more  to  be  accomplished. 
She  set  about  it  that  evening. 

Veiled,  but  in  black  now,  she  went  into  town. 
Getting  down  at  the  corner  of  Colburn  Avenue  and 
Perry  Street,  she  walked  a  short  distance  on  Perry, 
then  rang  the  bell  of  an  attractive-looking  house  of 
moderate  dimensions.  Being  admitted,  she  asked 
to  see  Mr.  Black,  and  for  an  hour  sat  in  close  con- 
versation with  him.  Then  she  took  a  trolley-car 
which  carried  her  into  the  suburbs.  When  she 
alighted,  it  was  unusually  late  for  a  woman  to  be  out 
alone;  but  she  had  very  little  physical  fear,  and 
walked  on  steadily  enough  for  a  block  or  two  till  she 
came  to  a  corner,  where  a  high  fence  loomed  for- 
biddingly between  her  and  a  house  so  dark  that  it 
was  impossible  to  distinguish  between  its  chimneys 
and  the  encompassing  trees  whose  swaying  tops 


i24  DARK  HOLLOW 

could  be  heard  swishing  about  uneasily  in  the  keen 
night  air.  An  eerie  accompaniment,  this  latter,  to 
the  beating  ,of  Deborah's  heart  already  throbbing 
with  anticipation  and  keyed  to  an  unusual  pitch  by 
her  own  daring. 

Was  she  quite  alone  in  the  seemingly  quiet  street? 
She  could  hear  no  one,  see  no  one.  A  lamp  burned 
in  front  of  Miss  Weeks'  small  house,  but  the  road  it 
illumined  (I  speak  of  the  one  running  down  to  the 
ravine)  showed  only  darkened  houses. 

She  had  left  the  corner  and  was  passing  the  gate 
of  the  Ostrander  homestead,  when  she  heard,  com- 
ing from  some  distant  point  within,  a  low  and  pe- 
culiar sound  which  held  her  immovable  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  sent  her  on  shuddering. 

It  was  the  sound  of  hammering. 

What  is  there  in  a  rat-tat-tat  in  the  dead  of  night 
which  rouses  the  imagination  and  fills  the  mind 
with  suggestions  which  we  had  rather  not  harbour 
when  in  the  dark  and  alone  ?  Deborah  Scoville  was 
not  superstitious,  but  she  had  keen  senses  and  mer- 
curial spirits  and  was  easily  moved  by  suggestion. 

Hearing  this  sound  and  locating  it  where  she  did, 
she  remembered,  with  a  quick  inner  disturbance,  that 
the  judge's  house  held  a  secret;  a  secret  of  such  im- 
port to  its  owner  that  the  dying  Bela  had  sought  to 
preserve  it  at  the  cost  of  his  life. 

Oh,  she  had  heard  all  about  that !  The  gossip  at 
Claymore  Inn  had  been  great,  and  nothing  had  been 
spared  her  curiosity.  There  was  something  in  this 
house  which  it  behooved  the  judge  to  secrete  from 


SOUNDS  IN  THE  NIGHT  125 

sight  yet  more  completely  before  her  own  and  Reu- 
ther's  entrance,  and  he  was  at  work  upon  it  now, 
hammering  with  his  own  hand  while  other  persons 
slept  I  No  wonder  she  edged  her  way  along  the 
fence  with  a  shrinking,  yet  persistent,  step.  She  was 
circling  her  future  home  and  that  house  held  a  mys- 
tery. 

And  yet,  like  any  other  imaginative  person  under 
a  stress  of  aroused  feeling,  she  might  very  easily  be 
magnifying  some  commonplace  act  into  one  of  ter- 
rifying possibilities.  One  can  hammer  very  inno- 
cently in  his  own  house,  even  at  night,  when  making 
preparations  to  receive  fresh  inmates  after  many 
years  of  household  neglect. 

She  recognised  her  folly  before  reaching  the  ad- 
joining field.  But  she  went  on.  Where  the  fence 
turned,  she  turned,  there  being  no  obstruction  to  her 
doing  so.  This  brought  her  into  a  wilderness  of 
tangled  grasses  where  free  stepping  was  difficult. 
As  she  groped  her  way  along,  she  had  ample  oppor- 
tunity to  hear  again  the  intermittent  sounds  of  the 
hammer,  and  to  note  that  they  reached  their  maxi- 
mum at  a  point  where  the  ell  of  the  judge's  study 
approached  the  fences. 

Rat-tat-tat;  rat-tat-tat.  She  hated  the  sound  even 
while  she  whispered  to  herself: 

"  It  is  just  some  household  matter  he  is  at  work 
upon;  —  rehanging  pictures  or  putting  up  shelves. 
It  can  be  nothing  else." 

Yet  on  laying  her  ear  to  the  fence,  she  felt  her 
sinister  fears  return;  and,  with  shrinking  glances 


126  DARK  HOLLOW 

into  a  darkness  which  told  her  nothing,  she  added  in 
fearful  murmur  to  herself: 

"  What  am  I  taking  Reuther  into  ?     I  wish  I  knew. 
I  wish  I  knew." 


BOOK  II 
THE  HOUSE  AND  THE  ROOM 


XIII 

A   BIT  OF   STEEL 

"  WHEN  are  you  going  to  Judge  Ostrander's?  w 

"  To-morrow.  This  is  my  last  free  day.  So  if 
there  is  anything  for  me  to  do,  do  tell  me,  Mr.  Black, 
and  let  me  get  to  work  at  once." 

"  There  is  nothing  you  can  do.  The  matter  is 
hopeless." 

"You  think  so?" 

There  was  misery  in  the  tone,  but  the  seasoned  old 
lawyer,  who  had  conducted  her  husband's  defence, 
did  not  allow  his  sympathies  to  run  away  with  his 
judgment. 

"  I  certainly  do,  madam.  I  told  you  so  the  other 
night,  and  now,  after  a  couple  of  days  of  thought 
on  the  subject,  I  am  obliged  to  repeat  my  assertion. 
Your  own  convictions  in  the  matter,  and  your  story 
of  the  shadow  and  the  peaked  cap  may  appeal  to 
the  public  and  assure  you  some  sympathy,  but  for  an 
entire  reversal  of  its  opinion  you  will  need  substan- 
tial and  incontrovertible  evidence.  You  must  re- 
member—  you  will  pardon  my  frankness  —  that 
your  husband's  character  failed  to  stand  the  test  of 
inquiry.  His  principles  were  slack,  his  temper  vio- 
lent. You  have  suffered  from  both  and  must  know. 
A  poor  foundation  I  found  it  for  his  defence;  and  a 
poor  one  you  will  find  it  for  that  reversal  of  public 
129 


130  DARK  HOLLOW 

opinion  upon  which  you  count,  without  very  strong 
proof  that  the  crime  for  which  he  was  punished  was 
committed  by  another  man.  You  think  you  have 
such  proof,  but  it  is  meagre,  very  meagre.  Find  me 
something  definite  to  go  upon  and  we  will  talk." 

"  Discouragement;  discouragement  everywhere," 
she  complained.  "  Yet  I  know  John  to  have  been 
innocent  of  this  crime." 

The  lawyer  raised  his  brows,  and  toyed  impa- 
tiently with  his  watch-chain.  If  her  convictions 
found  any  echo  in  his  own  mind,  he  gave  no  evidence 
of  it.  Doubtfully  she  eyed  him. 

"  What  you  want,"  she  observed  at  length,  with  a 
sigh,  "  is  the  name  of  the  man  who  sauntered  down 
the  ravine  ahead  of  my  husband.  I  cannot  give  it 
to  you  now,  but  I  do  not  despair  of  learning  it." 

"  Twelve  years  ago,  madam;  twelve  years  ago." 

"  I  know;  but  I  have  too  much  confidence  in  my 
cause  to  be  daunted  even  by  so  serious  an  obstacle 
as  that.  I  shall  yet  put  my  finger  on  this  man. 
But  I  do  not  say  that  it  will  be  immediately.  I  have 
got  to  renew  old  acquaintances;  revive  old  gossip; 
possibly,  recall  to  life  almost  obliterated  memories." 

Mr.  Black,  dropping  his  hand  from  his  vest,  gave 
her  his  first  look  of  unqualified  admiration. 

"  You  ring  true,"  said  he.  "  I  have  met  men 
qualified  to  lead  a  Forlorn  Hope;  but  never  before 
a  woman.  Allow  me  to  express  my  regret  that  it  is 
such  a  forlorn  one."  Then,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye  which  bespoke  a  lighter  mood,  he  remarked  in 
a  curiously  casual  tone. 


A  BIT  OF  STEEL  131 

"  Talking  of  gossip,  there  is  but  one  person  in 
town  who  is  a  complete  repository  of  all  that  is  said 
or  known  this  side  of  Colchester."  (The  next 
town.)  "  I  never  knew  her  to  forget  anything; 
and  I  never  knew  her  to  be  very  far  from  the  truth. 
She  lives  near  Judge  Ostrander  —  a  quaint  little 
body,  not  uninteresting  to  talk  to ;  a  regular  charac- 
ter, in  fact.  Do  you  know  what  they  say  about  her 
house?  That  everything  on  God's  earth  can  be 
found  in  it.  That  you've  but  to  name  an  object, 
and  she  will  produce  it.  She's  had  strange  oppor- 
tunities for  collecting  odds  and  ends,  and  she's 
never  neglected  one  of  them.  Yet  her  house  is  but 
a  box.  Miss  Weeks  is  her  name." 

"  I  will  remember  it." 

Mrs.  Scoville  rose.  Then  she  sat  down  again, 
with  the  remark: 

"  I  have  a  strange  notion.  It's  a  hard  thing  to 
explain  and  you  may  not  understand  me,  but  I 
should  like  to  see,  if  it  still  exists,  the  stick  —  my 
husband's  stick  —  with  which  this  crime  was  com- 
mitted. Do  the  police  retain  such  things?  Is  there 
any  possibility  of  my  finding  it  laid  away  in 
some  drawer  at  Headquarters  or  on  some  dusty 
shelf?" 

Mr.  Black  was  again  astonished.  Was  this  cal- 
lousness or  a  very  deep  and  determined  purpose. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  never  go  pottering  about  at 
Headquarters.  What  do  you  want  to  see  that  for? 
What  help  can  you  get  out  of  that?  " 

"  None  probably;  but  in  the  presence  of  defeat 


i32  DARK  HOLLOW 

you  grasp  at  every  hope.  I  dreamt  of  that  stick 
last  night.  I  was  in  an  awful  wilderness,  all  rocks, 
terrific  gorges  and  cloud-covered,  unassailable  peaks. 
A  light  —  one  ray  and  one  only  —  shone  on  me 
through  the  darkness.  Towards  this  ray  I  was 
driven  through  great  gaps  in  the  yawning  rocks 
and  along  narrow  galleries  sloping  above  an  un- 
fathomable abyss.  Hope  lay  beyond,  rescue,  light. 
But  a  wall  reared  its  black  length  between.  I 
came  upon  it  suddenly;  a  barrier  mighty  and  im- 
penetrable with  its  ends  lost  in  obscurity.  And  the 
ray!  the  one  long  beam  I  It  was  still  there.  It 
shone  directly  upon  me  from  an  opening  in  this  wall. 
It  marked  a  gate, —  a  gate  for  which  I  only  lacked 
the  key.  Where  should  I  find  one  to  fit  a  lock  so 
gigantic!  Nowhere!  unless  the  something  which  I 
held  —  which  had  been  in  my  hands  from  the  first 
—  would  be  found  to  move  its  stubborn  wards.  I 
tried  it  and  it  did!  it  did!  I  hear  the  squeak  of 
'those  tremendous  hinges  now,  and — •  Mr.  Black, 
you  must  have  guessed  what  that  something  was. 
My  husband's  stick !  the  bludgeon  with  whose  shape 
I  was  so  familiar  twelve  years  ago !  It  is  that  and 
that  only  which  will  lead  us  to  the  light.  Of  this  I 
feel  quite  sure." 

A  short  and  ironical  grunt  answered  her.  Mr. 
Black  was  not  always  the  pink  of  politeness  even  in 
the  presence  of  ladies. 

"  Most  interesting,"  he  commented  sarcastically. 
"  The  squeak  you  heard  was  probably  the  protest  of 
the  bed  you  were  reclining  on  against  such  a  misuse 


A  BIT  OF  STEEL  133 

of  the  opportunities  it  offered  you.  A  dream  lis- 
tened to  as  evidence  in  this  office!  You  must  have 
a  woman's  idea  of  the  value  of  my  time." 

Flushing  with  discomfiture,  she  attempted  to 
apologise,  when  he  cut  her  short.  "  Nevertheless, 
you  shall  see  the  stick  if  it  b  still  to  be  found.  I 
will  take  you  to  Police  Headquarters  if  you  will  go 
heavily  veiled.  We  don't  want  any  recognition  of 
you  there  yet." 

"  You  will  take  me  — " 

"  The  fact  that  I  never  go  there  may  make  my 
visit  not  unwelcome.  I'll  do  it;  yes,  I'll  do  it." 

"  Mr.  Black,  you  are  very  good.     How  soon  — " 

"  Now,"  he  announced,  jumping  up  to  get  his  hat. 
"  A  woman  who  can  take  up  a  man's  time,  with 
poetry  and  dreams,  might  as  well  have  the  whole 
afternoon.  Are  you  ready  ?  Shall  we  go  ?  " 

All  alacrity,  in  spite  of  the  irony  of  his  bow  and 
smile,  he  stood  at  the  <*oor  writing  for  her  to  follow 
him.  This  she  did  s^  dy  and  with  manifest  hesita- 
tion. She  did  not  understand  the  man.  People 
often  said  of  her  that  she  did  not  understand  her 
own  charm. 

There  was  one  little  fact  of  which  Mr.  Black  was 
ignorant;  —  that  the  police  had  had  their  eye  on  the 
veiled  lady  at  Claymore  Inn  for  several  days  now 
and  knew  who  his  companion  was  the  instant  they 
stepped  into  Headquarters.  In  vain  his  plausible 
excuses  for  showing  his  lady  friend  the  curiosities  of 
the  place;  her  interest  in  the  details  of  criminology 
was  well  understood  by  Sergeant  Doolittle,  though 


134  DARK  HOLLOW 

of  course  he  had  not  sounded  its  full  depths,  and 
could  not  know  from  any  one  but  Judge  Ostran- 
der  himself,  her  grave  reasons  for  steeping  her 
mind  again  in  the  horrors  of  her  husband's  long- 
since  expiated  crime.  And  Judge  Ostrander  was  the 
last  man  who  would  be  likely  to  give  him  this  infor- 
mation. 

Therefore,  when  he  saw  the  small,  mocking  eye 
of  the  lawyer  begin  to  roam  over  the  shelves,  and 
beheld  his  jaw  drop  as  it  sometimes  did  when  he 
sought  to  veil  his  purpose  in  an  air  of  mild  pre- 
occupation, he  knew  what  the  next  request  would  be, 
as  well  as  if  the  low  sounds  which  left  Mr.  Black's 
lips  at  intervals  had  been  words  instead  of  inarticu- 
late grunts.  He  was,  therefore,  prepared  when  the 
question  did  come. 

"  Any  memorial  of  the  Etheridge  case?  " 

"  Nothing  but  a  stick  with  blood-marks  on  it. 
That,  I'm  afraid,  wouldn't  be  a  very  agreeable  sight 
for  a  lady's  eye." 

"  She's  proof,"  the  lawyer  whispered  in  the  offi- 
cer's ear.  "  Let's  see  the  stick." 

The  sergeant  considered  this  a  very  interesting 
experience  —  quite  a  jolly  break  in  the  dull  monot- 
ony of  the  day.  Hunting  up  the  stick,  he  laid  it 
in  the  lawyer's  hands,  and  then  turned  his  eye  upon 
the  lady. 

She  had  gone  pale,  but  it  took  her  but  an  instant 
to  regain  her  equanimity  and  hold  out  her  own  hand 
for  the  weapon. 

With  what  purpose?     What  did  she  expect  to 


A  BIT  OF  STEEL  135 

see  in  it  which  others  had  not  seen  many  times  ?  She 
did  not  know,  herself.  She  was  simply  following 
an  impulse,  just  as  she  had  felt  herself  borne  on  by 
some  irresistible  force  in  her  dream.  And  so,  the 
three  stood  there,  the  men's  faces  ironic,  inquisitive, 
wondering  at  the  woman's  phlegm  if  not  at  her  mo- 
tive; hers,  hidden  behind  her  veil,  but  bent  forward 
over  the  weapon  in  an  attitude  of  devouring  interest. 
Thus  for  a  long,  slow  minute;  then  she  impulsively 
raised  her  head  and,  beckoning  the  two  men  nearer, 
she  directed  attention  to  a  splintered  portion  of  the 
handle  and  asked  them  what  they  saw  there. 

"Nothing;  just  stick,"  declared  the  sergeant. 
"  The  marks  you  are  looking  for  are  higher  up." 

"And  you,  Mr.  Black?" 

He  saw  nothing  either  but  stick.  But  he  was  lit- 
tle less  abrupt  in  his  answer. 

"Do  you  mean  those  roughnesses?"  he  asked. 
"  That's  where  the  stick  was  whittled.  You  remem- 
ber that  he  had  been  whittling  at  the  stick  — " 

"Who?" 

The  word  shot  from  her  lips  so  violently  that  for 
a  moment  both  men  looked  staggered  by  it.  Then 
Mr.  Black,  with  unaccustomed  forbearance,  an- 
swered gently  enough: 

"  Why,  Scoville,  madam ;  or  so  the  prosecution 
congratulated  itself  upon  having  proved  to  the  jury's 
satisfaction.  It  did  not  tally  with  Scoville's  story 
or  with  common  sense  I  know.  You  remember, — 
pardon  me, —  I  mean  that  any  one  who  read  a  re- 
port of  the  case,  will  remember  how  I  handled  the 


136  DARK  HOLLOW 

matter  in  my  speech.  But  the  prejudice  in  favour  of 
the  prosecution  —  I  will  not  say  against  the  defence 
—  was  too  much  for  me,  and  common  sense,  the 
defendant's  declarations,  and  my  eloquence  all  went 
for  nothing." 

"  Of  course  they  produced  the  knife?  " 

"  Yes,  they  produced  the  knife." 

"  It  was  in  his  pocket?" 

"  Yes." 

"Have  they  that  here?" 

"  No,  we  haven't  that  here." 

"  But  you  remember  it?  " 

"Remember  it?" 

"  Was  it  a  new  knife,  a  whole  one,  I  mean,  with 
all  its  blades  sharp  and  in  good  order?  " 

"  Yes.  I  can  say  that.  I  handled  it  several 
times." 

"  Then,  whose  blade  left  that?  "  And  again  she 
pointed  to  the  same  place  on  the  stick  where  her 
finger  had  fallen  before. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean."  The  sergeant 
looked  puzzled.  Perhaps,  his  eyesight  was  not  very 
keen. 

"  Have  you  a  magnifying-glass?  There  is  some- 
thing embedded  in  this  wood.  Try  and  find  out 
what  it  is." 

The  sergeant,  with  a  queer  look  at  Mr.  Black, 
who  returned  it  with  interest,  went  for  a  glass,  and 
when  he  had  used  it,  the  stare  he  gave  the  heavily 
veiled  woman  drove  Mr.  Black  to  reach  out  his  own 
hand  for  the  glass. 


A  BIT  OF  STEEL  137 

"  Well,"  he  burst  forth,  after  a  prolonged  scru- 
tiny, "  there  is  something  there." 

"  The  point  of  a  knife  blade.  The  extreme 
point,"  she  emphasised.  "  It  might  easily  escape 
the  observation  even  of  the  most  critical,  without 
such  aid  as  is  given  by  this  glass." 

"  No  one  thought  of  using  a  magnify  ing-glass  on 
this,"  blurted  out  the  sergeant.  "  The  marks  made 
by  the  knife  were  plain  enough  for  all  to  see,  and 
that  was  all  which  seemed  important." 

Mr.  Black  said  nothing;  he  was  feeling  a  trifle 
cheap ;  —  something  which  did  not  agree  with  his 
crusty  nature.  Not  having  seen  Mrs.  Scoville  for  a 
half-hour  without  her  veil,  her  influence  over  him 
was  on  the  wane,  and  he  began  to  regret  that  he  had 
laid  himself  open  to  this  humiliation. 

She  saw  that  it  would  be  left  for  her  to  wind  up 
the  interview  and  get  out  of  the  place  without  arous- 
ing too  much  attention.  With  a  self-possession 
which  astonished  both  men,  knowing  her  immense 
interest  in  this  matter,  she  laid  down  the  stick,  and, 
with  a  gentle  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  remarked  in 
an  easy  tone: 

"  Well,  it's  curious !  The  inns  and  outs  of  a 
crime,  I  mean.  Such  a  discovery  ten  years  after 
the  event  (I  think  you  said  ten  years)  is  very  in- 
teresting." Then  she  sighed:  "Alas!  it's  too 
late  to  benefit  the  one  whose  life  it  might  have  saved. 
Mr.  Black,  shall  we  be  going?  I  have  spent  a  most 
entertaining  quarter  of  an  hour." 

Mr.  Black  glanced  from  her  to  the  sergeant  be- 


138  DARK  HOLLOW 

fore  he  joined  her.  Then,  with  one  of  his  sour 
smiles  directed  towards  the  former,  he  said: 

"  I  wouldn't  be  talking  about  this,  sergeant.  It 
will  do  no  good,  and  may  subject  us  to  ridicule." 

The  sergeant,  none  too  well  pleased,  nodded 
slightly.  Seeing  which,  she  spoke  up: 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  I  should  think  it  but 
proper  reparation  to  the  dead  to  let  it  be  known  that 
his  own  story  of  innocence  has  received  this  late 
confirmation." 

But  the  lawyer  continued  to  shake  his  head,  with 
a  very  sharp  look  at  the  sergeant.  If  he  could  have 
his  way,  he  would  have  this  matter  stop  just  where 
it  was. 

Alas !  he  was  not  to  have  his  way,  as  he  saw,  when 
at  parting  he  essayed  to  make  a  final  protest  against 
a  public  as  well  as  premature  reopening  of  this  old 
case.  She  did  not  see  her  position  as  he  did,  and 
wound  up  her  plea  by  saying: 

"  The  public  must  lend  their  aid,  if  we  are  to 
get  the  evidence  we  need  to  help  us.  Can  we  find 
the  man  who  whittled  that  stick?  Never.  But 
some  one  else  may.  I  am  going  to  give  the  men 
and  women  of  this  town  a  chance.  I'm  too  anxious 
to  clear  my  husband's  memory  to  shrink  from  any 
publicity.  You  see,  I  believe  that  the  real  culprit 
will  yet  be  found." 

The  lawyer  dropped  argument.  When  a  woman 
speaks  in  that  tone,  persuasion  is  worse  than  useless. 
Besides,  she  had  raised  her  veil.  Strange,  what  a 
sensitive  countenance  will  do! 


XIV 

ALL   IS   CLEAR 

"  THIS  is  my  daughter,  Judge  Ostrander,  Reu- 
ther,  this  is  the  judge." 

The  introduction  took  place  at  the  outer  gates 
whither  the  judge  had  gone  to  receive  them. 

Reuther  threw  aside  her  veil,  and  looked  up  into 
the  face  bent  courteously  towards  her.  It  had  no 
look  of  Oliver.  Somehow  she  felt  glad.  She  could 
hardly  have  restrained  herself  if  he  had  met  her 
gaze  with  Oliver's  eyes.  They  were  fine  eyes  not- 
withstanding, piercing  by  nature  but  just  now  misty 
with  a  feeling  that  took  away  all  her  fear.  He 
was  going  to  like  her;  she  saw  it  in  every  trembling 
line  of  his  countenance,  and  at  the  thought  a  smile 
rose  to  her  lips  which,  if  fleeting,  lent  such  an  ethe- 
real aspect  to  her  beauty  that  he  forgave  Oliver 
then  and  there  for  a  love  which  never  could  be 
crowned,  but  which  henceforth  could  no  longer  be 
regarded  by  him  as  despicable. 

With  a  courteous  gesture  he  invited  them  in,  but 
stopping  to  lock  one  gate  before  leading  them 
through  the  other,  Mrs.  Scoville  had  time  to  ob- 
serve that  since  her  last  visit  with  its  accompanying 
inroad  of  the  populace,  the  two  openings  which  at 
this  point  gave  access  to  the  walk  between  the  fences 
139 


140  DARK  HOLLOW 

had  been  closed  up  with  boards  so  rude  and  dingy 
that  they  must  have  come  from  some  old  lumber 
pile  in  attic  or  cellar. 

The  judge  detected  her  looking  at  them. 

"  I  have  cut  off  my  nightly  promenade,"  said  he. 
"  With  youth  in  the  house,  more  cheerful  habits 
must  prevail.  To-morrow  I  shall  have  my  lawn  cut, 
and  if  I  must  walk  after  sundown  I  will  walk  there." 

The  two  women  exchanged  glances.  Perhaps 
their  gloomy  anticipations  were  not  going  to  be 
realised.  » 

But  once  within  the  house,  the  judge  showed  em- 
barrassment. He  was  conscious  of  its  unfitness  for 
their  fastidious  taste  and  yet  he  had  not  known  how 
to  improve  matters.  In  his  best  days  he  had  con- 
cerned himself  very  little  with  household  affairs,  and 
for  the  last  few  years  he  had  not  given  a  thought 
to  anything  outside  his  own  rooms.  Bela  had  done 
all  —  and  Bela  was  pre-eminently  a  cook,  not  a  gen- 
eral house-servant.  How  would  these  women  re- 
gard the  disorder  and  the  dust? 

"  I  have  few  comforts  to  offer,"  said  he,  opening 
a  door  at  his  right  and  then  hastily  closing  it  again. 
"  This  part  of  the  house  is,  as  you  see,  completely 
dismantled  and  not  —  very  clean.  But  you  shall 
have  carte  blanche  to  arrange  to  your  liking  one  of 
these  rooms  for  your  sitting-room  and  parlour. 
There  is  furniture  in  the  attic  and  you  may  buy 
freely  whatever  else  is  necessary.  I  don't  want  to 
discourage  little  Reuther.  As  for  your  bedrooms 
— "  He  stopped,  hemmed  a  little  and  flushed  a 


ALL  IS  CLEAR  141 

vivid  red  as  he  pointed  up  the  dingy  flight  of  un- 
carpeted  stairs  towards  which  he  had  led  them. 
"  They  are  above ;  but  it  is  with  shame  I  admit  that 
I  have  not  gone  above  this  floor  for  many  years. 
Consequently,  I  don't  know  how  it  looks  up  there 
or  whether  you  can  even  find  towels  and  things. 
Perhaps  you  will  go  up  first,  Mrs.  Scoville.  I  will 
stay  here  while  you  take  a  look.  I  really,  couldn't 
have  a  strange  cleaning-woman  here,  or  any  one  who 
would  make  remarks.  Have  I  counted  too  much 
on  your  good-nature?  " 

"  No ;  not  at  all.  In  fact,  you  simply  arouse  all 
the  housekeeping  instincts  within  me.  I  will  be 
down  in  a  minute.  Reuther,  I  leave  you  with  the 
judge." 

She  ran  lightly  up.  The  next  instant  they  heard 
her  sneeze,  then  they  caught  the  sound  of  a  window 
rattling  up,  followed  by  a  streak  of  light  falling 
slant-wise  across  the  dismal  stairs. 

The  judge  drew  a  breath  of  relief  and  led  Reuther 
towards  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 

"  This  is  the  way  to  the  dining-room  and  kitchen," 
he  explained.  "  I  have  been  accustomed  to  having 
my  meals  served  in  my  own  room,  but  after  this  I 
shall  join  you  a't  table.  Here,"  he  continued,  lead- 
ing her  up  to  the  iron  door,  "  is  the  entrance  to  my 
den.  You  may  knock  here  if  you  want  me,  but 
there  is  a  curtain  beyond,  which  no  one  lifts  but  my- 
self. You  understand,  my  dear,  and  will  excuse  an 
old  man's  eccentricities?" 

She  smiled,  rejoicing  only  in  the  caressing  voice, 


142  DARK  HOLLOW 

and  in  the  yearning,  almost  fatherly,  manner  with 
which  he  surveyed  her. 

"I  quite  understand,"  said  she;  "and  so  will 
mother." 

"  Reuther,"  he  now  observed  with  a  strange  in- 
termixture of  gentleness  and  authority,  "  there  is 
one  thing  I  wish  to  say  to  you  at  the  very  start.  I 
may  grow  to  love  you  —  God  knows  that  a  little 
affection  would  be  a  welcome  change  in  my  life  — 
but  I  want  you  to  know  and  know  now,  that  all  the 
love  in  the  world  will  not  change  my  decision  as  to 
the  impropriety  of  a  match  between  you  and  my  son 
Oliver.  That  settled,  there  is  no  reason  why  all 
should  not  be  clear  between  us." 

"  All  is  clear." 

Faint  and  far  off  the  words  sounded,  though  she 
was  standing  so  near  he  could  have  laid  his  hand  on 
her  shoulder.  Then  she  gave  one  sob  as  though 
in  saying  this  she  heard  the  last  clod  fall  upon  what 
would  never  see  resurrection  again  in  this  life,  and, 
lifting  her  head,  looked  him  straight  in  the  eye  with 
a  decision  and  a  sweetness  which  bowed  his  spirit 
and  caused  his  head  in  turn  to  fall  upon  his  breast. 

"  What  a  father  can  do  for  a  child,  I  will  do 
for  you,"  he  murmured,  and  led  her  back  to  her 
mother,  who  was  now  coming  down  stairs. 

A  week,  and  Deborah  Scoville  had  evolved  a 
home  out  of  chaos.  That  is,  within  limits.  There 
was  one  door  on  that  upper  story  which  she  had 
simply  opened  and  shut;  nor  had  she  entered  the 
judge's  rooms,  or  even  offered  to  do  so.  The  ban 


ALL  IS  CLEAR  143 

which  had  been  laid  upon  her  daughter  she  felt  ap- 
plied equally  to  herself;  that  is  for  the  present. 
Later,  there  must  be  a  change.  So  particular  a 
man  as  the  judge  would  soon  find  himself  too  un- 
comfortable to  endure  the  lack  of  those  attentions 
which  he  had  been  used  to  in  Bela's  day.  He  had 
not  even  asked  for  clean  sheets,  and  sometimes  she 
had  found  herself  wondering,  with  a  strange  shrink- 
ing of  her  heart,  if  his  bed  was  ever  made,  or 
whether  he  had  not  been  driven  at  times  to  lie  down 
in  his  clothes. 

She  had  some  reason  for  these  doubtful  conclu- 
sions. In  her  ramblings  through  the  house  she  had 
come  upon  Bela's  room.  It  was  in  a  loft  over  the 
kitchen  and  she  had  been  much  amazed  at  its  condi- 
tion. In  some  respects  it  looked  as  decent  as  she 
could  expect,  but  in  the  matter  of  bed  and  bed- 
clothes it  presented  an  aspect  somewhat  startling. 
The  clothes  were  there,  tossed  in  a  heap  on  the  floor, 
but  there  was  no  bed  in  sight  nor  anything  which 
could  have  served  as  such. 

It  had  been  dragged  out.  Evidences  of  this  were 
everywhere;  dragged  out,  and  down  the  narrow, 
twisted  staircase  which  was  the  only  medium  of 
communication  between  the  lower  floor  and  this  loft. 
As  she  noted  the  marks  made  by  its  passage  down 
the  steps,  the  unhappy  vision  rose  before  her  of  the 
judge,  immaculate  in  attire  and  unaccustomed  of 
hand,  tugging  at  this  bed  and  alternately  pushing 
and  pulling  it  by  main  strength  down  this  contracted, 
many-cornered  staircase.  A  smile,  half  pitiful,  half 


144  DARK  HOLLOW 

self-scornful  curved  her  lips  as  she  remembered  the 
rat-tat-tat  she  had  heard  on  that  dismal  night  when 
she  clung  listening  to  the  fence,  and  wondered  now 
if  it  had  not  been  the  bumping  of  this  cot  sliding 
from  step  to  step. 

But  no!  the  repeated  stroke  of  a  hammer  is  un- 
mistakable. He  had  played  the  carpenter  that 
night  as  well  as  the  mover,  and  with  no  visible  re- 
sults. Mystery  still  reigned  in  the  house  for  all 
the  charm  and  order  she  had  brought  into  it;  a 
mystery  which  deeply  interested  her,  and  which  she 
yet  hoped  to  solve,  notwithstanding  its  remoteness 
from  the  real  problem  of  her  existence. 


XV 

THE  PICTURE 

NIGHT!  and  Deborah  Scoville  waiting  anxiously  for 
Reuther  to  sleep,  that  she  might  brood  undisturbed 
over  a  new  and  disturbing  event  which  for  the  whole 
day  had  shaken  her  out  of  her  wonted  poise,  and 
given,  as  it  were,  a  new  phase  to  her  life  in  this 
house. 

Already  had  she  stepped  several  times  to  her 
daughter's  room  and  looked  in,  only  to  meet  Reu- 
ther's  unquiet  eye  turned  towards  hers  in  silent  in- 
quiry. Was  her  own  uneasiness  infectious?  Was 
the  child  determined  to  share  her  vigil?  She  would 
wait  a  little  longer  this  time  and  see. 

Their  rooms  were  over  the  parlour  and  thus  as 
far  removed  as  possible  from  the  judge's  den.  In 
her  own,  which  was  front,  she  felt  at  perfect  ease, 
and  it  was  without  any  fear  of  disturbing  either  him 
or  Reuther  that  she  finally  raised  her  window  and 
allowed  the  cool  wind  to  soothe  her  heated  cheeks. 

How  calm  the  aspect  of  the  lawn  and  its  cluster- 
ing shrubs.  Dimly  seen  though  they  were  through 
the  leaves  of  the  vines  she  had  but  partially  clipped, 
she  felt  the  element  of  peace  which  comes  with  per- 
fect quiet,  and  was  fain  to  forget  for  awhile  the 
terrors  it  so  frequently  conceals.  The  moon,  which 
had  been  invisible  up  to  this  moment,  emerged  from 
145 


146  DARK  HOLLOW 

skurrying  clouds  as  she  quietly  watched  the  scene; 
and  in  an  instant  Her  peace  was  gone  and  all  the 
thronging  difficulties  of  her  position  came  rushing 
back  upon  her  in  full  force,  as  all  the  details  of  the 
scene,  so  mercifully  hidden  just  now,  flashed  again 
upon  her  vision. 

Perched,  as  she  was,  in  a  window  overlooking  the 
lane,  she  had  but  to  lift  her  eyes  from  the  double 
fence  (that  symbol  of  sad  seclusion)  to  light  on 
the  trees  rising  above  that  unspeakable  ravine,  black 
with  memories  she  felt  strangely  like  forgetting 
to-night.  Beyond  .  .  .  how  it  stood  out  on  the 
bluff !  it  had  never  seemed  to  stand  out  more 
threateningly!  .  .  .  the  bifurcated  mass  of  dismal 
ruin  from  which  men  had  turned  their  eyes  these 
many  years  now!  But  the  moon  loved  it;  caressed 
it;  dallied  with  it,  lighting  up  its  toppling  chimney 
and  empty,  staring  gable.  There,  where  the  black 
streak  could  be  seen,  she  had  stood  with  the  judge 
in  that  struggle  of  wills  which  had  left  its  scars  upon 
them  both  to  this  very  day.  There,  hidden  but  al- 
ways seen  by  those  who  remembered  the  traditions 
of  the  place,  mouldered  away  the  walls  of  that  old 
closet  where  the  timorous,  God-stricken  suicide  had 
breathed  out  his  soul.  She  had  stood  in  it  only  the 
other  day,  penned  from  outsiders'  view  by  the 
judge's  outstretched  arms.  Then,  she  had  no  mind 
for  bygone  horrors,  her  own  tragedy  weighed  too 
heavily  upon  her;  but  to-night,  as  she  gazed,  fasci- 
nated, anxious  to  forget  herself,  anxious  to  indulge 
in  any  thought  which  would  relieve  her  from  dwell- 


THE  PICTURE  147 

ing  on  the  question  she  must  settle  before  she  slept, 
she  allowed  her  wonder  and  her  revulsion  to  have 
free  course.  Instead  of  ignoring,  she  would  recall 
the  story  of  the  place  as  it  had  been  told  her  when 
she  first  came  to  settle  in  its  neighbourhood. 

Spencer's  Folly!  Well,  it  had  been  that,  and 
Spencer's  den  of  dissipation  too!  There  were  great 
tales  —  but  it  was  not  of  these  she  was  thinking, 
but  of  the  night  of  storm — (of  the  greatest  storm 
of  which  any  record  remained  in  Shelby)  when  the 
wind  tore  down  branches  and  toppled  down  chim- 
neys; when  cattle  were  smitten  in  the  field  and 
men  on  the  highway;  when  the  old  bridge,  since 
replaced,  buckled  up  and  sank  in  the  roaring  flood 
it  could  no  longer  span,  and  the  bluff  towering  over- 
head, flared  into  flame,  and  the  house  which  was.  its 
glory,  was  smitten  apart  by  the  descending  bolt  as 
by  a  Titan  sword,  and  blazed  like  a  beacon  to  the 
sky. 

This  was  long  before  she  herself  had  come  to 
Shelby;  but  she  had  been  told  the  story  so  often 
that  it  was  quite  as  vivid  to  her  as  if  she  had  been 
one  of  the  innumerable  men  and  women  who  had 
crowded  the  glistening,  swimming  streets  to  view 
this  spectacle  of  destruction.  The  family  had  been 
gone  for  months,  and  so  no  pity  mingled  with  the 
excitement.  Not  till  the  following  day  did  the 
awful  nature  of  the  event  break  in  its  full  horror 
upon  the  town.  Among  the  ruins,  in  a  closet  which 
the  flames  had  spared,  they  found  hunched  up  in  one 
corner,  the  body  of  a  man,  in  whose  seared  throat 


148  DARK  HOLLOW 

a  wound  appeared  which  had  not  been  made  by 
lightning  or  fire.  Spencer!  Spencer  himself,  re- 
turned they  knew  not  how,  to  die  of  this  self-in- 
flicted wound,  in  the  dark  corner  of  his  grand  but 
neglected  dwelling. 

And  this  was  what  made  the  horror  of  the  place 
till  the  tragedy  of  the  opposite  hollow  added  crime 
to  crime,  and  the  spot  became  outlawed  to  all  sen- 
sitive citizens.  Folly  and  madness  and  the  venge- 
ance of  high  heaven  upon  unhallowed  walls,  spoke 
to  her  from  that  towering  mass,  bathed  though  it 
was  just  now  in  liquid  light  under  the  impartial 
moon. 

But  as  she  continued  to  survey  it,  the  clouds  came 
trooping  up  once  more,  and  the  vision  was  wiped 
out  and  with  it  all  memories  save  those  of  a  nearer 
trouble  —  a  more  pressing  necessity. 

Withdrawing  from  the  window,  she  crept  again 
to  Reuther's  room  and  peered  carefully  in.  Inno- 
cence was  asleep  at  last.  Not  a  movement  disturbed 
the  closed  lids  on  the  wax-like  cheek.  Even  the 
breath  came  so  softly  that  it  hardly  lifted  the  youth- 
ful breast.  Repose  the  most  perfect  and  in  the 
form  of  all  others  the  sweetest  to  a  tender  mother, 
lay  before  her  and  touched  her  already  yearning 
heart  to  tears.  Lighting  a  candle  and  shielding  it 
with  her  hand,  she  gazed  long  and  earnestly  at 
Reuther's  sweet  face.  Yes,  she  was  right.  Sorrow 
was  slowly  sapping  the  fountain  of  her  darling's 
youth.  If  Reuther  was  to  be  saved,  hope  must  come 
soon.  With  a  sob  and  a  prayer,  the  mother  left 


THE  PICTURE  149 

the  room,  and  locking  herself  into  her  own,  sat 
down  at  last  to  face  the  new  perplexity,  the  mon- 
strous enigma  which  had  come  into  her  life. 

It  had  followed  in  natural  sequence  from  a  pro- 
posal made  by  the  judge  that  some  attention  should 
be  given  his  long-neglected  rooms.  He  had  said  on 
rising  from  the  breakfast  table — (the  words  are 
more  or  less  important)  : 

"  I  am  really  sorry  to  trouble  you,  Mrs.  Scoville; 
but  if  you  have  time  this  morning,  will  you  clean  up 
my  study  before  I  leave?  The  carriage  is  ordered 
for  half-past  nine." 

The  task  was  one  she  had  long  desired  to  per- 
form, and  would  have  urged  upon  him  daily  had 
she  dared,  but  the  limitations  he  set  for  its  accom- 
plishment struck  her  aghast. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  wish  to  remain  there 
while  I  work?  You  will  be  choked,  Judge." 

"  No  more  than  I  have  been  for  the  last  two  days. 
You  may  enter  any  time."  And  going  in,  he  left 
the  door  open  behind  him. 

"  He  will  lock  it  when  he  goes  out,"  she  com- 
mented to  herself.  "  I  had  better  hasten." 

Giving  Reuther  the  rest  of  the  work  to  do,  she 
presently  appeared  before  him  with  pail  and  broom 
and  a  pile  of  fresh  linen.  Nothing  more  common- 
place could  be  imagined,  but  to  her,  if  not  to  him, 
there  underlay  this  especial  act  of  ordinary  house- 
wifery a  possible  enlightenment  on  a  subject  which 
had  held  the  whole  community  in  a  state  of  curiosity 
for  years.  She  was  going  to  enter  the  room  which 


150  DARK  HOLLOW 

had  been  barred  from  public  sight  by  poor  Bela's 
dying  body.  She  was  going  to  see  —  or  had  he 
only  meant  that  she  was  to  have  her  way  with  the 
library  —  the  room  where  she  had  already  been  and 
much  of  which  she  remembered.  The  doubt  gave 
a  tremulous  eagerness  to  her  step  and  caused  her 
eye  to  wander  immediately  to  that  forbidden  corner 
soon  as  she  had  stepped  over  the  threshold. 

The  bedroom  door  was  open;  —  proof  that  she 
was  expected  to  enter  there.  Meanwhile,  she  felt 
the  eye  of  the  judge  upon  her  and  endeavoured  to 
preserve  a  perfect  composure  and  to  sink  the  cu- 
rious and  inquiring  woman  in  the  diligent  house- 
keeper. 

But  she  could  not,  quite.  Two  facts  of  which 
she  immediately  became  cognisant,  prevented  this. 
First,  the  great  room  before  her  presented  a  bare 
floor,  whereas  on  her  first  visit  it  had  been  very 
decently,  if  not  cheerfully,  covered  by  a  huge  carpet 
rug.  Secondly,  the  judge's  chair,  which  had  once 
looked  immovable,  had  been  dragged  forward  into 
such  a  position  that  he  could  keep  his  own  eye  on 
the  bedroom  door.  Manifestly  she  was  not  to  be 
allowed  to  pursue  her  duties  unwatched.  Certainly 
she  had  to  take  more  than  one  look  at  the  every- 
day implements  she  carried  to  retain  that  balance 
of  judgment  which  should  prevent  her  from  becom- 
ing the  dupe  of  her  own  expectations. 

"  I  do  not  expect  you  to  clean  up  here  as  thor- 
oughly as  you  have  your  own  rooms  up  stairs,"  he 
remarked,  as  she  passed  him.  "  You  haven't  the 


THE  PICTURE  151 

time,  or  I  the  patience  for  too  many  strokes  of  the 
broom.  And  Mrs.  Scoville,"  he  called  out  as  she 
slipped  through  the  doorway,  "  leave  the  door  open 
and  keep  away  as  much  as  possible  from  the  side 
of  the  room  where  I  have  nailed  up  the  curtain.  I 
had  rather  not  have  that  touched." 

She  turned  with  a  smile  and  nodded.  She  felt 
that  she  had  been  set  to  work  with  a  string  tied 
round  her  feet.  Not  touch  the  curtain!  Why, 
that  was  the  one  thing  in  the  room  she  wanted  to 
touch;  for  in  it  she  not  only  saw  the  carpet  which 
had  been  taken  up  from  the  floor  of  the  study,  but 
a  possible  screen  behind  which  anything  might  lurk 
—  even  his  redoubtable  secret. 

Or  had  it  another  and  much  simpler  explanation? 
Might  it  not  have  been  hung  there  merely  as  a  shield 
to  the  window.  The  room  must  have  a  window 
and  there  was  none  to  be  seen  elsewhere.  It  would 
be  like  him  to  shut  out  light  and  air.  She  would 
ask. 

"  There  is  no  window,"  she  observed,  looking 
back  at  the  judge. 

"  No,"  was  his  short  reply. 

Slowly  she  set  down  her  pail.  One  thing  was 
settled.  It  was  Bela's  cot  she  saw  before  her  —  a 
cot  without  any  sheets.  These  had  been  left  behind 
in  the  dead  negro's  room,  and  the  judge  had  been 
sleeping  just  as  she  had  feared,  wrapped  in  a  rug 
and  with  uncovered  pillow.  This  pillow  was  his 
own;  it  had  not  been  brought  down  with  the  bed. 
She  hastily  slipped  a  cover  on  it,  and  without  calling 


152  DARK  HOLLOW 

any  further  attention  to  her  act,  began  to  make  up 
the  bed. 

Conscious  that  the  papers  he  made  a  feint  of  read- 
ing were  but  a  cover  for  his  watchfulness,  she  moved 
about  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  and  did  not  spare  him 
the  clouds  of  dust  which  presently  rose  before  her 
broom.  She  could  have  managed  it  more  deftly, — 
would  have  done  so  at  another  time,  but  it  was  her 
express  intention  just  now  to  make  him  move  back 
out  of  her  way,  if  only  to  give  her  an  opportunity 
to  disturb  by  a  backward  stroke  of  her  broom  the 
folds  of  the  carpet-rug  and  learn  if  she  could  what 
lay  hidden  behind  it. 

But  the  judge  was  impervious  to  discomfort.  He 
coughed  and  shook  his  head,  but  did  not  budge 
an  inch.  Before  she  had  begun  to  put  things  in 
order,  the  clock  struck  the  half-hour. 

"  Oh !  "  she  protested,  with  a  pleading  glance  his 
way,  "  I'm  not  half  done." 

"  There's  another  day  to  follow,"  he  dryly  re- 
marked, rising  and  taking  a  key  from  his  pocket. 

The  act  expressed  his  wishes;  and  she  was  pro- 
ceeding to  carry  out  her  things  when  a  quick  sliding 
noise  from  the  wall  she  was  passing,  drew  her  at- 
tention and  caused  her  to  spring  forward  in  an 
involuntary  effort  to  catch  a  picture  which  had 
slipped  its  cord  and  was  falling  to  the  floor. 

A  shout  from  the  judge  of  "  Stand  aside,  let  me 
come !  "  reached  her  too  late.  She  had  grasped  and 
lifted  the  picture  and  seen  — 

But  first,  let  me  explain.     This  picture  was  not 


THE  PICTURE  153 

like  the  others  hanging  about.  It  was  a  veiled  one. 
From  some  motive  of  precaution  or  characteristic 
desire  for  concealment  on  the  part  of  the  judge,  it 
had  been  closely  wrapped  about  in  heavy  brown 
paper  before  being  hung,  and  in  the  encounter  which 
ensued  between  the  falling  picture  and  the  spear  of 
an  image  standing  on  a  table  underneath,  this  paper 
had  received  a  slit  through  which  Deborah  had  been 
given  a  glimpse  of  the  canvas  beneath. 

The  shock  of  what  she  saw  would  have  unnerved 
a  less  courageous  woman. 

It  was  a  highly  finished  portrait  of  Oliver  in  his 
youth,  with  a  broad  band  of  black  painted  directly 
across  the  eyes. 


XVI 

"DON'T!   DON'T!" 

IN  recalling  this  startling  moment,  Deborah  won- 
dered as  much  at  her  own  aplomb  as  at  that  of  Judge 
Ostrander.  Not  only  had  she  succeeded  in  sup- 
pressing all  recognition  of  what  had  thus  been  dis- 
covered to  her,  but  had  carried  her  powers  of  self- 
repression  so  far  as  to  offer,  and  with  good  grace 
too,  to  assist  him  in  rehanging  the  picture.  This 
perfection  of  acting  had  its  full  reward.  With 
equal  composure  he  excused  her  from  the  task,  and, 
adding  some  expression  of  regret  at  his  well-known 
carelessness  in  not  looking  better  after  his  effects, 
bowed  her  from  the  room  with  only  a  slight  increase 
of  his  usual  courteous  reserve. 

But  later,  when  thought  came  and  with  it  a  certain 
recollections,  what  significance  the  incident  acquired 
in  her  mind,  and  what  a  long  line  of  terrors  it 
brought  in  its  train! 

It  was  no  casual  act,  this  defacing  of  a  son's  well- 
loved  features.  It  had  a  meaning  —  a  dark  and 
desperate  meaning.  Nor  was  the  study-wall  the 
natural  home  of  this  picture.  An  unfaded  square 
which  she  had  noted  on  the  wall-paper  of  the  inner 
room  showed  where  its  original  place  had  been. 
There  in  full  view  of  the  broken-hearted  father 
when  he  woke  and  in  darksome  watchfulness  while 
154 


"DON'T!     DON'T!"  155 

he  slept,  it  had  played  its  heavy  part  in  his  long 
torment  —  a  galling  reminder  of  —  what? 

It  was  to  answer  this  question  —  to  face  this  new 
view  of  Oliver  and  the  bearing  it  had  on  the  rela- 
tions she  had  hoped  to  establish  between  him  and 
Reuther,  that  she  had  waited  for  the  house  to  be 
silent  and  her  child  asleep.  If  the  defacing  marks 
she  had  seen  meant  that  the  cause  of  separation  be- 
tween father  and  son  lay  in  some  past  fault  of  Oliver 
himself,  serious  enough  for  such  a  symbol  to  be 
necessary  to  reconcile  the  judge  to  their  divided 
lives,  she  should  know  it  and  know  it  soon.  The 
night  should  not  pass  without  that  review  of  the  past 
by  which  alone  she  could  now  judge  Oliver  Os- 
trander. 

She  had  spoken  of  him  as  noble;  she  had  forced 
herself  to  believe  him  so,  and  in  profession  and  in 
many  of  his  actions  he  had  been  so,  but  had  she 
ever  been  wholly  pleased  with  him?  To  go  back 
to  their  first  meeting,  what  impression  had  he  made 
upon  her  then?  Had  it  been  altogether  favourable 
and  such  as  would  be  natural  in  one  of  his  repute? 
Hardly;  but  then  the  shock  of  her  presentation  to 
one  who  had  possibly  seen  her  under  other  and 
shameful  conditions  had  been  great,  and  her  judg- 
ment could  scarcely  have  full  play  while  her  whole 
attention  was  absorbed  in  watching  for  some  hint  of 
recognition  on  his  part. 

But  when  this  apprehension  had  vanished;  when 
quite  assured  that  he  had  failed  to  see  in  the  wid- 
owed Mrs.  Averill  the  wife  of  the  man  who  had 


156  DARK  HOLLOW 

died  a  felon's  death  in  Shelby,  had  her  spirits  risen 
and  her  eyes  cleared  to  his  great  merits  as  she  had 
heard  them  extolled  by  people  of  worth  and  intel- 
lectual standing?  Alas,  no.  There  had  been  some- 
thing in  his  look  —  a  lack  of  spontaneity  which  had 
not  fitted  in  with  her  expectations. 

And  in  the  months  which  followed,  when  as  Reu- 
ther's  suitor  she  saw  him  often  and  intimately  — 
how  had  she  regarded  him  then?  More  leniently 
of  course.  In  her  gratification  at  prospects  so  far 
beyond  any  she  had  a  right  to  expect  for  her  child, 
she  had  taken  less  note  of  this  successful  man's  de- 
fects. Peculiarities  of  conversation  and  manner 
which  had  seemed  to  bespeak  a  soul  far  from  con- 
fident in  its  hopes,  resolved  themselves  into  the  un- 
easy moods  of  a  man  who  had  a  home  he  never 
visited,  a  father  he  never  saw. 

But  had  she  been  really  justified  in  this  easy  view 
of  things?  If  the  break  between  his  father  and 
himself  was  the  result  of  nothing  deeper  than  a 
difference  of  temperament,  tastes  or  even  opinions, 
why  should  he  have  shrunk  with  such  morbid  dis- 
taste from  all  allusions  to  that  father?  Was  it 
natural?  She  may  have  looked  upon  it  as  being  so 
in  the  heyday  of  her  hopes  and  when  she  had  a  se- 
cret herself  to  hide,  but  could  she  so  degrade  her 
judgment  now? 

And  what  of  his  conduct  towards  Reuther?  Had 
that  been  all  her  mother  heart  could  ask  of  a  man 
of  his  seemingly  high  instincts?  She  had  assured 
his  father  in  her  first  memorable  interview  with  him 


"DON'T!     DON'T!"  157 

that  it  had  been  perfectly  honourable  and  above  all 
reproach.  And  so  it  had  been  as  far  as  mere  words 
went.  But  words  are  not  all;  it  is  the  tender  look, 
the  manly  bearing,  the  tone  which  springs  from  the 
heart  which  tells  in  great  crises;  and  these  had  all 
been  lacking.  Generous  as  he  attempted  to  show 
himself,  there  was  nothing  in  his  bearing  to  match 
that  of  Reuther  as  she  took  her  quiet  leave  of  him 
and  entered  upon  a  fate  so  much  bitterer  for  her 
than  for  him. 

This  lack  of  grace  in  him  had  not  passed  unnoted 
by  her  even  at  the  time,  but  being  herself  so  greatly 
in  fault  she  had  ascribed  it  to  the  recoil  of  a  proud 
man  from  the  dread  of  social  humiliation.  But  it 
took  another  aspect  under  the  strong  light  just 
thrown  upon  his  early  life  by  her  discovery  in  the 
room  below.  Nothing  but  some  act,  unforgivable 
and  unforgettable  would  account  for  that  black  mark 
drawn  between  a  father's  eyes  and  his  son's  face. 
No  bar  sinister  could  tell  a  stronger  tale.  But  this 
was  no  bar  sinister;  rather  the  diliberate  stigmatising 
of  one  yet  loved,  but  banned  for  a  reason  which  was 
little  short  of  —  Here  her  conclusions  stopped;  she 
would  not  allow  her  imagination  to  carry  her  any 
farther. 

Unhappy  mother,  just  as  she  saw  something  like 
a  prospect  of  releasing  her  long-dead  husband  from 
the  odium  of  an  unjust  sentence,  to  be  shaken  by 
this  new  doubt  as  to  the  story  and  character  of  the 
man  for  whose  union  with  her  beloved  child  she  was 
so  anxiously  struggling!  Should  it  not  make  her 


158  DARK  HOLLOW 

pause?  Should  she  not  show  wisdom  in  giving  a 
different,  meaning  from  any  she  had  hitherto  done, 
to  that  stern  and  inexorable  dictum  of  the  father, 
that  no  marriage  between  the  two  could  or  should 
ever  be  considered? 

It  was  a  question  for  which  no  ready  answer 
seemed  possible  in  her  present  mood.  Better  to 
await  the  time  when  some  move  had  to  be  made  or 
some  definite  decision  reached.  Now  she  must  rest, 
—  rest  and  not  think. 

Have  any  of  us  ever  made  the  like  acknowledg- 
ment and  then  tried  to  sleep  ?  In  half  an  hour  Mrs. 
Scoville  was  again  upon  her  feet,  this  time  with  a 
determination  which  ignored  the  hour  and  welcomed 
night  as  though  it  were  broad  noon  day. 

There  was  a  room  on  this  upper  floor  into  which 
neither  she  nor  Reuther  had  ever  stepped.  She 
had  once  looked  in  but  that  was  all.  To-night  — 
because  she  could  not  sleep;  because  she  must  not 
think  —  she  was  resolved  to  enter  it.  Oliver's  room ! 
left  as  he  had  left  it  years  before !  What  might  it 
not  tell  of  a  past  concerning  which  she  longed  to  be 
reassured? 

The  father  had  laid  no  restrictions  upon  her,  in 
giving  her  this  floor  for  her  use.  Rights  which  he 
ignored  she  could  afford  to  appropriate.  Dressing 
sufficiently  for  warmth,  she  lit  a  candle,  put  out 
the  light  in  her  own  room  and  started  down  the 
hall. 

If  she  paused  on  reaching  the  threshold  of  this 
long-closed  room,  it  was  but  natural.  The  clock  on 


"DON'T!     DON'T!"  159 

Reuther's  mantel  had  sent  its  three  clear  strokes 
through  the  house  as  her  hand  fell  on  the  knob,  and 
to  her  fearing  heart  and  now  well-awakened  im- 
agination these  strokes  had  sounded  in  her  ear  like 
a  "  Don't!  Don't! }>  The  silence,  so  gruesome, 
now  that  this  shrill  echo  had  ceased,  was  poor  prep- 
aration for  her  task.  Yet  would  she  have  welcomed 
any  sound  —  the  least  which  could  have  been  heard? 
No,  that  were  a  worse  alternative  than  silence;  and, 
relieved  of  that  momentary  obsession  consequent  up- 
on an  undertaking  of  doubtful  outcome,  she  pushed 
the  door  fully  open  and  entered. 

A  smother  of  dust  —  an  odour  of  decay  —  a  lack 
of  all  order  in  the  room's  arrangements  and  furnish- 
ings —  even  a  general  disarray,  hallowed,  if  not 
affected,  by  time  —  for  all  this  she  was  prepared. 
But  not  for  the  wild  confusion  —  the  inconceivable 
litter  and  all  the  other  signs  she  saw  about  her  of 
a  boy's  mad  packing  and  reckless  departure.  Here 
her  imagination,  so  lively  at  times,  had  failed  her; 
and,  as  her  eye  became  accustomed  to  the  semi-ob- 
scurity, and  she  noted  the  heaps  of  mouldering 
clothing  lying  amid  overturned  chairs  and  trampled 
draperies,  she  felt  her  heart  grow  cold  with  a  name- 
less dread  she  could  only  hope  to  counteract  by  quick 
and  impulsive  action. 

But  what  action  ?  Was  it  for  her  to  touch,  to  re- 
arrange, to  render  clean  and  orderly  this  place  of 
unknown  memories?  She  shrank  with  inconceivable 
distaste  from  the  very  idea  of  such  meddling;  and, 
though  she  saw  and  noted  all,  she  did  not  put  out  so 


160  DARK  HOLLOW 

much  as  a  finger  towards  any  object  there  till  — 
There  was  an  inner  door,  and  this  some  impulse 
drove  her  to  open.  A  small  closet  stood  revealed, 
empty  but  for  one  article.  When  she  saw  this  ar- 
ticle she  gave  a  great  gasp;  then  she  uttered  a  low 
pshaw!  and  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  drew 
back  and  flung  to  the  door.  But  she  opened  it 
again.  She  had  to.  One  cannot  live  in  hideous 
doubt,  without  an  effort  to  allay  it.  She  must  look 
at  that  small,  black  article  again;  look  at  it  with 
candle  in  hand;  see  for  herself  that  her  fears  were 
without  foundation;  that  a  shadow  had  made  the 
outline  on  the  wall  which  — 

She  found  herself  laughing.  There  was  nothing 
else  to  do.  She  with  thoughts  like  these;  she, 
Reuther's  mother!  Verily,  the  early  hours  of 
morning  were  unsuited  for  any  such  work  as  this. 
She  would  go  back  to  her  own  room  and  bed  —  But 
she  only  went  as  far  as  the  bureau  where  she  had 
left  the  candlestick,  which  having  seized,  she  re- 
turned to  the  closet  and  slowly,  reluctantly  reopened 
the  door.  Before  her  on  the  wall  hung  a  cap, —  and 
it  was  no  shadow  which  gave  it  that  look  like  her 
husband's;  the  broad  peak  was  there.  She  had 
not  been  mistaken;  it  was  the  duplicate  of  the  one 
she  had  picked  up  in  the  attic  of  the  Claymore  Inn 
when  that  inn  was  simply  a  tavern. 

Well,  and  what  if  it  was  !  —  Such  was  her  thought 
a  moment  later.  She  would  take  down  the  cap,  set  it 
before  her  and  look  at  it  till  her  brain  grew  clear 
of  its  follies. 


"DON'T!     DON'T!"  161 

But  after  she  had  it  In  her  hand  she  found  her- 
self looking  anywhere  but  at  the  cap.  She  stared  at 
the  floor,  the  walls  about,  the  desk  she  had  mechan- 
ically approached.  She  even  noticed  the  books  lying 
about  on  the  shelves  before  her  and  took  down  one 
or  two,  to  glance  at  their  title-pages  in  a  blind  curi- 
osity she  could  not  account  for  the  next  minute. 
Then  she  found  herself  looking  into  a  drawer  half 
drawn  out  and  filled  with  all  sorts  of  heterogeneous 
articles:  sealing-wax,  a  roll  of  pins,  a  pen-holder,  a 
knife  —  a  knife!  Why  should  she  recoil  again  at 
that?  Nothing  could  be  more  ordinary  than  to  find 
a  knife  in  the  desk-drawer  of  a  young  man!  The 
fact  was  not  worth  a  thought;  yet  before  she  knew 
it,  her  fingers  were  creeping  towards  this  knife,  had 
picked  it  up  from  among  the  other  scattered  articles, 
had  closed  upon  it,  let  it  drop  again,  only  to  seize 
hold  of  it  yet  more  determinedly  and  carry  it  straight 
to  the  light. 

Who  spoke?  Had  any  one  spoken?  Was  there 
any  sound  in  the  air  at  all?  She  heard  none,  yet  the 
sense  of  sound  was  in  her  ear,  as  though  it  had  been 
and  passed.  When  the  glance  she  threw  about  her 
came  back  to  her  outstretched  hand,  she  knew  that 
the  cry,  if  cry  it  were,  had  been  within,  and  that  the 
echoes  of  the  room  had  remained  undisturbed. 
The  knife  was  lying  open  on  her  palm,  and  from  one 
of  the  blades  the  end  had  been  nipped,  just  enough 
of  it  to  match  — 

Was  she  mad!  She  thought  so  for  a  moment; 
then  she  laid  down  the  knife  close  against  the  cap 


1 62  DARK  HOLLOW 

and  contemplated  them  both  for  more  minutes  than 
she  ever  reckoned. 

And  the  stillness,  which  had  been  profound,  be- 
came deeper  yet.  Not  even  Reuther's  clock  sounded 
its  small  note. 

The  candle  fluttering  low  in  its  socket  roused  her 
at  last  from  her  abstraction.  Catching  up  the  two 
articles  which  had  so  enthralled  her,  she  restored  the 
one  to  the  closet,  the  other  to  the  drawer,  and,  with 
swift  but  silent  step,  regained  her  own  room  where 
she  buried  her  head  in  her  pillow,  weeping  and  pray- 
ing until  the  morning  light,  breaking  in  upon  her 
grief,  awoke  her  to  the  obligations  of  her  position 
and  the  necessity  of  silence  concerning  all  the  ex- 
periences of  this  night. 


XVII 

UNWELCOME   TRUTHS 

SILENCE.  Yes,  silence  was  the  one  and  only  refuge 
remaining  to  her.  Yet,  after  a  few  days,  the  con- 
stant self-restraint  which  it  entailed,  ate  like  a  canker 
into  her  peace,  and  undermined  a  strength  which 
she  had  always  considered  inexhaustible.  Reuther 
began  to  notice  her  pallor,  and  the  judge  to  look 
grave.  She  was  forced  to  complain  of  a  cold  (and 
in  this  she  was  truthful  enough)  to  account  for  her 
alternations  of  feverish  impulse  and  deadly  lassi- 
tude. 

The  trouble  she  had  suppressed  was  having  its 
quiet  revenge.  Should  she  continue  to  lie  inert  and 
breathless  under  the  threatening  hand  of  Fate,  or 
risk  precipitating  the  doom  she  sought  to  evade,  by 
proceeding  with  inquiries  upon  the  result  of  which 
she  could  no  longer  calculate? 

She  recalled  the  many  mistakes  made  by  those  who 
had  based  their  conclusions  upon  circumstantial  evi- 
dence (her  husband's  conviction  in  fact)  and  made 
up  her  mind  to  brave  everything  by  having  this  mat- 
ter out  with  Mr.  Black.  Then  the  pendulum  swung 
back,  and  she  found  that  she  could  not  do  this  be- 
cause, deep  down  in  her  heart,  there  burrowed  a 
monstrous  doubt  (how  born  or  how  cherished  she 
would  not  question),  which  Mr.  Black,  with  an 
163 


164  DARK  HOLLOW 

avidity  she  could  not  combat,  would  at  once  detect 
and  pounce  upon.  Better  silence  and  a  slow  death 
than  that. 

But  was  there  no  medium  course?  Could  she  not 
learn  from  some  other  source  where  Oliver  had  been 
on  the  night  of  that  old-time  murder?  Miss  Weeks 
was  a  near  neighbour  and  saw  everything.  Miss 
Weeks  never  forgot;  —  to  Miss  Weeks  she  wpuld 
go. 

With  instructions  to  Reuther  calculated  to  keep 
that  diligent  child  absorbed  and  busy  in  her  ab- 
sence, she  started  out  upon  her  quest.  She  had 
reached  the  first  gate,  passed  it  and  was  on  the  point 
of;  opening  the  second  one,  when  she  saw  on  the  walk 
before  her  a  small  slip  of  brown  paper.  Lifting  it, 
she  perceived  upon  it  an  almost  illegible  scrawl  which 
she  made  out  to  read  thus:'  — 

For  Mrs.  Scoville  : 

Do  not  go  wandering  all  over  the  town  for  clews.  Look 
closer  home. 

And  below: 

You  remember  the  old  saying  about  jumping  from  the 
frying  pan  into  the  fire.  Let  your  daughter  be  warned.  It 
is  better  to  be  singed  than  consumed. 

Warned!  Reuther?  Better  be  singed  than  con- 
sumed? What  madness  was  this?  How  singed 
and  how  consumed?  Then  because  Deborah's  mind 
was  quick,  it  all  flashed  upon  her,  bowing  her  in 
spirit  to  the  ground.  Reuther  had  been  singed  by 
the  knowledge  of  her  father's  ignominy,  she  would 


UNWELCOME  TRUTHS  165 

be  consumed  if  inquiry  were  carried  further  and  this 
ignominy  transferred  to  the  proper  culprit.  Con- 
sumed! There  was  but  one  person  whose  disgrace 
could  consume  Reuther.  Oliver  alone  could  be 
meant.  The  doubts  she  had  tried  to  suppress  from 
her  own  mind  were  shared  by  others, —  others! 

The  discovery  overpowered  her  and  she  caught 
herself  crying  aloud  in  utter  self-abandonment: 

"  I  will  not  go  to  Miss  Weeks.  I  will  take 
Reuther  and  fly  to  some  wilderness  so  remote  and 
obscure  that  we  can  never  be  found." 

Yet  in  five  minutes  she  was  crossing  the  road,  her 
face  composed,  her  manner  genial,  her  tongue  ready 
for  any  encounter.  The  truth  must  be  hers  at  all 
hazards.  If  it  could  be  found  here,  then  here  would 
she  seek  it.  Her  long  struggle  with  fate  had  brought 
to  the  fore  every  latent  power  she  possessed. 

One  stroke  on  the  tiny  brass  knocker,  old-fash- 
ioned and  quaint  like  everything  else  in  this  doll- 
house,  brought  Miss  Weeks'  small  and  animated 
figure  to  the  door.  She  had  seen  Mrs.  Scoville 
coming,  and  was  ready  with  her  greeting.  A  dog 
from  the  big  house  across  the  way  would  have  been 
welcomed  there.  The  eager  little  seamstress  had 
never  forgotten  her  hour  in  the  library  with  the  half- 
unconscious  judge. 

"  Mrs.  Scoville !  "  she  exclaimed,  fluttering  and 
leading  the  way  into  the  best  room;  "  how  very  kind 
you  are  to  give  me  this  chance  for  making  my  apolo- 
gies. You  know  we  have  met  before." 

"Have  we?"     Mrs.  Scoville  did  not  remember, 


1 66  DARK  HOLLOW 

but  she  smiled  her  best  smile  and  was  gratified  to 
note  the  look  of  admiration  with  which  Miss  Weeks 
surveyed  her  more  than  tasty  dress  before  she  raised- 
her  eyes  to  meet  the  smile  to  whose  indefinable  charm 
so  many  had  succumbed.  "  It  is  a  long  time  since 
I  lived  here,"  Deborah  proceeded  as  soon  as  she  saw 
that  she  had  this  woman,  too,  in  her  net.  "  The 
friends  I  had  then,  I  scarcely  hope  to  have  now;  my 
trouble  was  of  the  kind  which  isolates  one  completely. 
I  am  glad  to  have  you  acknowledge  an  old  acquaint- 
ance. It  makes  me  feel  less  lonely  in  my  new  life." 

"  Mrs.  Scoville,  I  am  only  too  happy."  It  was 
bravely  said,  for  the  little  woman  was  in  a  state  of 
marked  embarrassment.  Could  it  be  that  her  visitor 
had  not  recognised  her  as  the  person  who  had  ac- 
costed her  on  that  memorable  morning  she  first  en- 
tered Judge  Ostrander's  forbidden  gates? 

"  I  have  been  told  — "  thus  Deborah  easily  pro- 
ceeded, "  that  for  a  small  house  yours  contains  the 
most  Wonderful  assortment  of  interesting  objects. 
Where  did  you  ever  get  them  ?  " 

"  My  father  was  a  collector,  on  a  very  small  scale 
of  course,  and  my  mother  had  a  passion  for  hoard- 
ing which  prevented  anything  from  going  out  of  this 
house  after  it  had  once  come  into  it, —  and  a  great 
many  strange  things  have  come  into  it.  There  have 
even  been  bets  made  as  to  the  finding  or  not  finding 
of  a  given  object  under  this  roof.  Pardon  me,  per- 
haps I  bore  you." 

"Not 'at  all.  It's  very  interesting.  But  what 
about  the  bets?" 


UNWELCOME  TRUTHS  167 

"  Oh,  just  this.  One  day  two  men  were  chaffing 
each  other  in  one  of  the  hotel  lobbies,  and  the  con- 
versation turning  upon  what  this  house  held,  one  of 
them  wagered  that  he  knew  of  something  I  could 
not  fish  out  of  my  attic,  and  when  the  other  asked 
what,  he  said  an  aeroplane  —  Why  he  didn't  say  a 
locomotive,  I  don't  know;  but  he  said  an  aeroplane, 
and  the  other,  taking  him  up,  they  came  here  to- 
gether and  put  me  the  question  straight.  Mrs.  Sco- 
ville,  you  may  not  believe  it,  but  my  good  friend 
won  that  bet.  Years  ago  when  people  were  just 
beginning  to  talk  about  air-sailing  machines,  my 
brother  who  was  visiting  me,  amused  his  leisure 
hours  in  putting  together  something  he  called  a? 
4  flyer.'  And  what  is  more,  he  went  up  in  it,  too, 
but  he  came  down  so  rapidly  that  he  kept  quite  still 
about  it,  and  it  fell  to  me  to  lug  the  broken  thing 
in.  So  when  these  gentlemen  asked  to  see  an  aero- 
plane, I  took  them  into  a  lean-to  where  I  store  my 
least  desirable  things,  and  there  pointed  out  a  mass 
of  wings  and  bits  of  tangled  wire,  saying  as  dramatic- 
ally as  I  could :  '  There  she  is ! '  And  they  first 
stared,  then  laughed;  and  when  one  complained: 
'  That's  a  ruin,  not  an  aeroplane,'  I  answered  with  all 
the  demureness  possible ;  *  and  what  is  any  aero- 
plane but  a  ruin  in  prospect?  This  has  reached  the 
ruin  stage;  that's  all.'  So  the  bet  was  paid  and  my 
reputation  sustained.  Don't  you  find  it  a  little  amus- 
ing?" 

"  I  do,  indeed,"  smiled  Deborah.  "  Now,  if  I 
wanted  to  make  the  test,  I  should  take  another  course 


1 68  DARK  HOLLOW 

from  these  men.  I  should  not  pick  out  something 
strange,  or  big,  or  unlikely.  I  should  choose  some 
every-day  object,  some  little  matter  — "  She  paused 
as  if  to  think. 

"What  little  matter?"  asked  the  other  compla- 
cently. 

"  My  husband  once  had  a  cap,"  mused  Mrs.  Sco- 
ville  thoughtfully.  "  It  had  an  astonishingly  broad 
peak  in  front.  Have  you  a  cap  like  that?  " 

Miss  Weeks'  eyes  opened.  She  stared  in  some 
consternation  at  Mrs.  Scoville,  who  hastened  to  say: 

"  You  wonder  that  I  can  mention  my  husband. 
Perhaps  you  will  not  be  so  surprised  when  I  tell  you 
that  in  my  eyes  he  is  a  martyr,  and  quite  guiltless  of 
the  crime  for  which  he  was  punished." 

"  You  think  that?  "  There  was  real  surprise  in 
the  manner  of  the  questioner.  Mrs.  Scoville's  brow 
cleared.  She  was  pleased  at  this  proof  that  her 
affairs  had  not  yet  reached  the  point  of  general 
gossip. 

"  Miss  Weeks,  I  am  a  mother.  I  have  a  young 
and  lovely  daughter.  Can  I  look  in  her  innocent 
eyes  and  believe  her  father  to  have  so  forgotten  his 
responsibilities  as  to  overshadow  her  life  with  crime  ? 
No,  I  will  not  believe  it.  Circumstances  were  in 
favour  of  his  conviction,  but  he  never  lifted  the  stick 
which  struck  down  Algernon  Etheridge." 

Miss  Weeks,  who  had  sat  quite  still  during  the 
utterance  of  these  remarks,  fidgetted  about  at  their 
close,  with  what  appeared  to  the  speaker,  a  sudden 
and  quite  welcome  relief. 


UNWELCOME  TRUTHS  169 

"Oh!"  she  murmured;  and  said  no  more.  It 
was  not  a  topic  she  found  easy  of  discussion. 

"  Let  us  go  back  to  the  cap,"  suggested  Deborah, 
with  another  of  her  fascinating  smiles.  "  Are  you 
going  to  show  me  one  such  as  I  have  described?" 

"  Let  me  see.  A  man's  cap  with  an  extra  broad 
peak!  Mrs.  Scoville,  I  fear  that  you  have  caught 
me.  There  are  caps  hanging  up  in  various  closets, 
but  I  don't  remember  any  with  a  peak  beyond  the 
ordinary." 

"  Yet  they  are  worn?     You  have  seen  such?  " 

A  red  spot  sprang  out  on  the  faded  cheek  of  the 
woman  as  she  answered  impulsively: 

"  Oh,  yes.  Young  Mr.  Oliver  Ostrander  used 
to  wear  one.  I  wish  I  had  asked  him  for  it,"  she 
pursued,  naively.  "  I  should  not  have  had  to 
acknowledge  defeat  at  your  very  first  inquiry." 

"  Oh !  you  needn't  care  about  that,"  laughed  Deb- 
orah, in  rather  a  hard  tone  for  her.  She  had  made 
her  point,,  but  was  rather  more  frightened  than 
pleased  at  her  success.  "  There  must  be  a  thousand 
articles  you  naturally  would  lack.  I  could  name  — " 

"  Don't,  don't!  "  the  little  woman  put  in  breath- 
lessly. "  I  have  many  odd  things  but  of  course  not 
everything.  For  instance  — "  But  here  she  caught 
sight  of  the  other's  abstracted  eye,  and  dropped  the 
subject.  The  sadness  which  now  spread  over  the 
very  interesting  countenance  of  her  visitor,  offered 
her  an  excuse  for  the  introduction  of  a  far  more 
momentous  topic;  one  she  had  burned  to  introduce 
but  had  not  known  how. 


170  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  Mrs.  Scoville,  I  hear  that  Judge  Ostrander  has 
got  your  daughter  a  piano.  That  is  really  a  won- 
derful thing  for  him  to  do.  Not  that  he  is  so  close 
with  his  money,  but  that  he  has  always  been  so  set 
against  all  gaiety  and  companionship.  I  suppose 
you  did  not  know  the  shock  it  would  be  to  him  when 
you  asked  Bela  to  let  you  into  the  gates." 

"  No !  I  didn't  know.  But  it  is  all  right  now. 
The  judge  seems  to  welcome  the  change.  Miss 
Weeks,  did  you  know  Algernon  Etheridge  well 
enough  to  tell  me  if  he  was  as  good  and  irreproach- 
able a  man  as  they  all  say?  " 

"  He  was  a  good  man,  but  he  had  a  dreadfully 
obstinate  streak  in  his  disposition  and  very  set  ideas. 
I  have  heard  that  he  and  the  judge  used  to  argue  over 
a  point  for  hours.  And  he  was  most  always  wrong. 
For  instance,  he  was  wrong  about  Oliver." 

"Oliver?" 

"  Judge  Ostrander's  son,  you  know.  Mr.  Ether- 
idge wanted  him  to  study  for  a  professorship;  but 
the  boy  was  determined  to  go  into  journalism,  and 
you  see  what  a  success  he  has  made  of  it.  As  a 
professor  he  would  probably  have  been  a  failure." 

"  Was  this  difference  of  opinion  on  the  calling  he 
should  pursue,  the  cause  of  Oliver's  leaving  home  in 
the  way  he  did?"  continued  Deborah,  conscious  of 
walking  on  very  thin  ice. 

But  Miss  Weeks  rather  welcomed  than  resented 
this  curiosity.  Indeed  she  was  never  tired  of  en- 
larging upon  the  Ostranders.  It  was,  therefore,  with 
a  very  encouraging  alacrity  she  responded: 


UNWELCOME  TRUTHS  iji 

"  I  have  never  thought  so.  The  judge  would  not 
quarrel  with  Oliver  on  so  small  a  point  as  that. 
My  idea  is,  though  I  never  talk  of  it  much,  that  they 
had  a  great  quarrel  over  Mr.  Etheridge.  Oliver 
never  liked  the  old  student;  I've  watched  them  and 
I've  seen.  He  hated  his  coming  to  the  house  so 
much;  he  hated  the  way  his  father  singled  him  out 
and  deferred  to  him  and  made  him  the  confidant  of 
all  his  troubles.  When  they  went  on  their  walks, 
Oliver  always  hung  back,  and  more  than  once  I  have 
seen  him  make  a  grimace  of  distaste  when  his  father 
urged  him  forward.  He  was  only  a  boy,  I  know, 
but  his  dislikes  meant  something,  and  if  it  ever  hap- 
pened that  he  spoke  out  his  whole  mind,  you  may  be 
sure  that  some  very  bitter  words  passed." 

Was  this  meant  as  an  innuendo?  Could  it  be 
that  she  shared  the  very  serious  doubts  of  Deborah's 
anonymous  correspondent? 

Impossible  to  tell.  Such  nervous,  fussy  little 
bodies  often  possess  minds  of  unexpected  subtlety. 
Deborah  gave  up  all  hope  of  understanding  her,  and, 
accepting  her  statements  at  their  face  value,  effu- 
sively remarked: 

"  You  must  have  a  very  superior  mind  to  draw 
such  conclusions  from  the  little  you  have  seen.  I 
have  heard  many  explanations  given  for  the  breach 
you  name,  but  never  any  so  reasonable." 

A  flash  from  the  spinster's  wary  eye,  then  a  burst 
of  courage  and  the  quick  retort: 

"  And  what  explanation  does  Oliver  himself  give? 
You  ought  to  know,  Mrs.  Scoville." 


1 72  DARK  HOLLOW 

The  attack  was  as  sudden  as  it  was  unexpected. 
Deborah  flushed  and  trimmed  her  sails  for  this  new 
tack,  and  insinuating  gently,  "  Then  you  have 
heard  — "  waited  for  the  enlightenment  these  words 
were  likely  to  evoke. 

It  came  quickly  enough. 

"That  he  expected  to  marry  your  daughter? 
Oh,  yes,  Mrs.  Scoville;  it's  the  common  talk  here 
now.  I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  mentioning  it." 

Deborah's  head  went  up.  She  faced  the  other 
fairly,  with  the  look  born  of  mother  passion,  and 
mother  passion  only. 

"  Reuther  is  blameless  in  this  matter,"  she  pro- 
tested. "  She  was  brought  up  in  ignorance  of  what 
I  felt  sure  would  prove  a  handicap  and  misery  to  her. 
She  loves  Oliver  as  she  will  never  love  any  other  man, 
but  when  she  was  told  her  real  name  and  understood 
fully  what  that  name  carries  with  it,  she  declined  to 
saddle  him  with  her  shame.  That's  her  story,  Miss 
Weeks;  one  that  hardly  fits  her  appearance  which 
is  very  delicate.  And,  let  me  add,  having  once  ac- 
cepted her  father's  name,  she  refuses  to  be  known 
by  any  other.  I  have  brought  her  to  Shelby  where 
to  our  own  surprise  and  Reuther's  great  happiness, 
we  have  been  taken  in  by  Judge  Ostrander,  an  act  of 
kindness  for  which  we  are  very  grateful." 

Miss  Weeks  got  up,  took  down  one  of  her  rarest 
treasures  from  an  old  etagere  standing  in  one  corner 
and  laid  it  in  Mrs.  Scoville's  hand. 

"  For  your  daughter,"  she  declared.  "  Noble 
girl!  I  hope  she  will  be  happy." 


UNWELCOME  TRUTHS  173 

The  mother  was  touched.  But  not  quite  satisfied 
yet  of  the  giver's  real  feelings  towards  Oliver, 
she  was  not  willing  to  conclude  the  interview  until 
she  understood  her  small  hostess  better.  She,  there- 
fore, looked  admiringly  at  the  vase  (it  was  really 
choice)  ;  and,  after  thanking  its  donor  warmly,  pro- 
ceeded to  remark: 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  that  will  ever  make 
Reuther  happy,  and  that  she  cannot  have  unless  a 
miracle  occurs." 

"Oliver?"  suggested  the  other,  with  a  curious, 
wan  little  smile. 

Deborah  nodded. 

"  And  what  miracle  — " 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  wonder  you  pause.  This  is  not 
the  day  of  miracles.  But  if  my  belief  in  my  husband 
could  be  shared;  if  by  some  fortuitous  chance  I 
should  be  enabled  to  clear  his  name,  might  not  love 
and  loyalty  be  left  to  do  the  rest?  Wouldn't  the 
judge's  objections,  in  that  case,  be  removed?  What 
do  you  think,  Miss  Weeks?  " 

The  warmth,  the  abandon,  the  confidence  she  ex- 
pressed in  this  final  question  were  indescribable. 
Miss  Weeks'  conventional  mannerisms  melted  be- 
fore it.  She  could  no  more  withstand  the  witchery 
of  this  woman's  tone  and  manner  than  if  she  had 
been  a  man  subdued  by  the  charm  of  sex.  But  noth- 
ing, not  even  her  newly  awakened  sympathy  for  this 
agreeable  woman,  could  make  her  untruthful.  She 
might  believe  in  the  miracle  of  a  reversal  of  judg- 
ment in  the  case  of  a  falsely  condemned  criminal,  but 


174  DARK  HOLLOW 

not  of  an  Ostrander  accepting  humiliation,  even  at 
the  hands  of  Love.  She  felt  that  in  justice  to  this 
new  friendship  she  should  say  so. 

"Do  you  ask  me?"  she  began.  "Then  I  feel 
that  I  must  admit  to  you  that  the  Ostrander  pride  is 
proverbial.  Oliver  may  think  he  would  be  happy 
if  he  married  your  daughter  under  these  changed 
conditions;  but  I  should  be  fearful  of  the  reaction 
which  would  certainly  follow  when  he  found  that 
old  shames  are  not  so  easily  outlived.  There  is 
temper  in  the  family,  though  you  would  never  think 
it  to  hear  the  judge  speak;  and  if  your  daughter  is 
delicate  — " 

"  Is  it  of  her  you  are  thinking?  "  interrupted  Deb- 
orah, with  a  new  tone  in  her  voice. 

"  Not  altogether;  you  see  I  knew  Oliver  first." 

"And  are  fond  of  him?" 

"  Fond  is  a  big  word.  But  I  cannot  help  having 
some  feeling  for  the  boy  I  have  seen  grow  up  from 
a  babe  in  arms  to  a  healthy,  brilliant  manhood." 

"And  having  this  feeling — " 

"  There !  we  will  say  no  more  about  it."  The 
little  woman's  attitude  and  voice  were  almost  prayer- 
ful. "  You  have  judgment  enough  for  two.  Be- 
sides the  miracle  has  not  happened,"  she  interjected, 
with  a  smile  which  seemed  to  say  it  never  would  be. 

Deborah  sighed.  Whether  or  not  it  was  quite 
an  honest  expression  of  her  feeling  we  will  not  in- 
quire. She  was  there  for  a  definite  purpose  and  her 
way  to  it  was,  as  yet,  far  from  plain.  All  that  she 
had  really  learned  was  this:  that  it  was  she,  and 


UNWELCOME  TRUTHS  175 

not  Miss  Weeks  who  was  playing  a  part,  and  that 
whatever  her  inquiries,  she  need  have  no  fear  of  rous- 
ing suspicion  against  Oliver  in  a  mind  already  dom- 
inated by  a  belief  in  John  Scoville's  guilt.  The 
negative  with  which  she  followed  up  this  sigh  was 
consequently  one  of  sorrowful  acceptance.  She 
made  haste,  however,  to  qualify  it  with  the  remark: 

"  But  I  have  not  given  up  all  hope.  My  cause  is 
too  promising.  True,  I  may  not  succeed  in  marry- 
ing Reuther  into  the  Ostrander  family,  even  if  it 
should  be  my  good  lot  to  clear  her  father's  name; 
but  my  efforts  would  have  one  good  result,  as  pre- 
cious —  perhaps  more  precious  than  the  one  I  name. 
She  would  no  longer  have  to  regard  that  father  as 
guilty  of  a  criminal  act.  If  such  relief  can  be  hers 
she  should  have  it.  But  how  am  I  to  proceed?  I 
know  as  well  as  any  one  how  impossible  the  task 
must  prove,  unless  I  can  light  upon  fresh  evidence. 
And  where  am  I  to  get  that?  Only  from  some  new 
witness." 

Miss  Weeks'  polite  smile  took  on  an  expression 
of  indulgence.  This  roused  Deborah's  pride,  and, 
hesitating  no  longer,  she  anxiously  remarked: 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  Oliver  Ostrander 
might  be  that  witness.  He  certainly  was  in  the 
ravine  the  night  Algernon  Etheridge  was  struck 
down." 

Had  she  been  an  experienced  actress  of  years 
she  could  not  have  thrown  into  this  question  a 
greater  lack  of  all  innuendo.  Miss  Weeks,  already 
under  her  fascination,  heard  the  tone  but  never 


176  DARK  HOLLOW 

thought  to  notice  the  quick  rise  and  fall  of  her 
visitor's  uneasy  bosom,  and  so  unwarned,  responded 
with  all  due  frankness : 

"  I  know  he  was.  But  how  will  that  help  you? 
He  had  no  testimony  to  give  in  relation  to  this  crime, 
or  he  would  have  given  it." 

"  That  is  true."  The  admission  fell  mechanically 
from  Deborah's  lips;  she  was  not  conscious,  even, 
of  making  it.  She  was  struggling  with  the  shock  of 
the  simple  statement,  confirming  her  own  fears  that 
Oliver  had  actually  been  in  the  ravine  at  the  hour  of 
Etheridge's  murder.  "  Not  even  a  boy  would  hide 
knowledge  of  that  kind,"  she  stumblingly  continued. 
Then,  as  her  emotion  choked  her  into  silence,  she 
sat  with  piteous  eyes  searching  Miss  Weeks'  face,  till 
she  had  recovered  her  voice,  when  she  added  this 
vital  question: 

"  How  did  you  know  that  Oliver  was  in  the  ravine 
that  night?  I  only  guessed  it." 

"  Well,  it  was  in  this  way.  I  do  not  often  keep 
my  eye  on  my  neighbours  (oh,  no,  Miss  Weeks!), 
but  that  night  I  chanced  to  be  looking  over  the  way 
just  at  the  minute  Mr.  Etheridge  came  out,  and 
something  I  saw  in  his  manner  and  in  that  of 
the  judge  who  had  followed  him  to  the  door,  and 
in  that  of  Oliver  who,  cap  on  head,  was  leaning 
towards  them  from  a  window  over  the  porch,  made 
me  think  that  a  controversy  was  going  on  between 
the  two  old  people  of  which  Oliver  was  the  subject. 
This  naturally  interested  me,  and  I  watched  them 
long  enough  to  see  Oliver  suddenly  raise  his  fist  and 


UNWELCOME  TRUTHS  177 

shake  it  at  old  Etheridge;  then,  in  great  rage,  slam 
down  the  window  and  disappear  inside.  The  next 
minute,  and  before  the  two  below  had  done  talking, 
I  caught  another  glimpse  of  him  as  he  dashed 
around  the  corner  of  the  house  on  his  way  to  the 
ravine." 

"And  Mr.  Etheridge?" 

"  Oh,  he  left  soon  after.  I  watched  him  as  he 
went  by,  his  long  cloak  flapping  in  the  wind.  Little 
did  I  think  he  would  never  pass  my  window 
again." 

So  interested  were  they  both,  the  one  in  telling  to 
new  and  sympathetic  ears  the  small  experiences  of 
her  life,  the  other  in  listening  for  the  chance  phrase 
or  the  unconscious  admission  which  would  fix  the  sus- 
picion already  struggling  into  strong  life  within  her 
breast,  that  neither  for  the  moment  realised  the 
strangeness  of  the  situation  or  that  it  was  in  connec- 
tion with  a  crime  for  which  the  husband  of  one  of 
them  had  suffered,  they  were  raking  up  this  past,  and 
gossiping  over  its  petty  details.  Possibly  recollec- 
tion returned  to  them  both,  when  Mrs.  Scoville 
sighed  and  said: 

"  It  couldn't  have  been  very  long  after  you  saw 
him  that  Mr.  Etheridge  was  struck?" 

"  Only  some  twenty  minutes.  It  takes  just  that 
long  for  a  man  to  walk  from  this  corner  to  the 
bridge." 

"  And  you  never  heard  where  Oliver  went?  " 

"  It  was  never  talked  about  at  the  time.  Later, 
when  some  hint  got  about  of  his  having  been  in  the 


178  DARK  HOLLOW 

ravine  that  night,  he  said  he  had  gone  up  the  ravine 
not  down  it.  And  we  all  believed  him,  madam." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  What  a  discriminating 
mind  you  have,  Miss  Weeks,  and  what  a  wonderful 
memory!  To  think  that  after  all  these  years  you 
can  recall  that  Oliver  had  a  cap  on  his  head  when 
he  looked  out  of  the  window  at  his  father  and  Mr. 
Etheridge.  If  you  were  asked,  I  have  no  doubt  you 
could  tell  its  very  colour.  Was  it  the  peaked  one? 
—  the  like  of  which  you  haven't  in  your  marvelous 
collection?  " 

"  Yes,  I  could  swear  to  it."  And  Miss  Weeks 
gave  a  little  laugh,  which  sounded  incongruous 
enough  to  Deborah  in  whose  heart  at  that  moment, 
a  leaf  was  turned  upon  the  past,  which  left  the  future 
hopelessly  blank. 

"  Must  you  go?  "  Deborah  had  risen  mechanic- 
ally. "  Don't,  I  beg,  till  you  have  relieved  my 
mind  about  Judge  Ostrander.  I  don't  suppose  that 
there  is  really  anything  behind  that  door  of  his 
which  it  would  alarm  any  one  to  see?  " 

Then,  Deborah  understood  Miss  Weeks. 

But  she  was  ready  for  her. 

"  I've  never  seen  anything  of  the  sort,"  said  she, 
"  and  I  make  up  his  bed  in  that  very  room  every 
morning." 

"  Oh!  "  And  Miss  Weeks  drew  a  deep  breath. 
"  No  article  of  immense  value  such  as  that  rare  old 
bit  of  real  Satsuma  in  the  cabinet  over  there?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Deborah,  with  all  the  patience 
she  could  muster.  "  Judge  Ostrander  seems  very 


UNWELCOME  TRUTHS  179 

simple  in  his  tastes.  I  doubt  if  he  would  know 
Satsuma  if  he  saw  it." 

Miss  Weeks  sighed.  "  Yes,  he  has  never  ex- 
pressed the  least  wish  to  look  over  my  shelves.  So 
the  double  fence  means  nothing?  " 

"  A  whim,"  ejaculated  Deborah,  making  quietly 
for  the  door.  "  The  judge  likes  to  walk  at  night 
when  quite  through  with  his  work;  and  he  doesn't 
like  his  ways  to  be  noted.  But  he  prefers  the  lawn 
now.  I  hear  his  step  out  there  every  night." 

"  Well,  it's  something  to  know  that  he  leads  a 
more  normal  life  than  formerly !  "  sighed  the  little 
lady  as  she  prepared  to  usher  her  guest  out.  "  Come 
again,  Mrs.  Scoville;  and,  if  I  may,  I  will  drop  in 
and  see  you  some  day." 

Deborah  accorded  her  permission  and  made  her 
final  adieux.  She  felt  as  if  a  hand  which  had  been 
stealing  up  her  chest  had  suddenly  gripped  her 
throat,  choking  her.  She  had  found  the  man  who 
had  cast  that  fatal  shadow  down  the  ravine,  twelve 
years  before. 


XVIII 

REFLECTIONS 

DEBORAH  re-entered  the  judge's  house  a  stricken 
woman.  Evading  Reuther,  she  ran  up  stairs,  taking 
off  her  things  mechanically  on  the  way.  She  must 
have  an  hour  alone.  She  must  learn  her  first  lesson 
in  self-control  and  justifiable  duplicity  before  she 
came  under  her  daughter's  eyes.  She  must  — 

Here  she  reached  her  room  door  and  was  about 
to  enter,  when  at  a  sudden  thought  she  paused  and 
let  her  eyes  wander  down  the  hall,  till  they  settled 
on  another  door,  the  one  she  had  closed  behind  her 
the  night  before,  with  the  deep  resolve  never  to  open 
it  again  except  under-  compulsion. 

Had  the  compulsion  arisen?  Evidently,  for  a 
few  minutes  later  she  was  standing  in  one  of  the  dim 
corners  of  Oliver's  musty  room,  reopening  a  book 
which  she  had  taken  down  from  the  shelves  on  her 
former  visit.  She  remembered  it  from  its  torn  back 
and  the  fact  that  it  was  an  Algebra.  Turning  to 
the  fly  leaf,  she  looked  again  at  the  names  and 
schoolboy  phrases  she  had  seen  scribbled  all  over 
its  surface,  for  the  one  which  she  remembered  as, 
/  hate  Algebra. 

It  had  not  been  a  very  clearly  written  Algebra, 
and  she  would  never  have  given  this  interpretation 
to  the  scrawl,  had  she  been  in  a  better  mood.  Now 

iSo 


REFLECTIONS  181 

another  thought  had  come  to  her,  and  she  wanted 
to  see  the  word  again.  Was  she  glad  or  sorry  to 
have  yielded  to  this  impulse,  when  by  a  closer  in- 
spection she  perceived  that  the  word  was  not  Al- 
gebra at  all,  but  Algernon,  I  hate  A  Etheridge. — 
/  hate  A.  E. — /  hate  Algernon  E.  all  over  the  page, 
and  here  and  there  on  other  pages,  sometimes  in 
characters  so  rubbed  and  faint  as  to  be  almost  un- 
readable and  again  so  pressed  into  the  paper  by  a 
vicious  pencil-point  as  to  have  broken  their  way 
through  to  the  leaf  underneath. 

The  work  of  an  ill-conditioned  schoolboy!  but  — 
this  hate  dated  back  many  years.  Paler  than  ever, 
and  with  hands  trembling  almost  to  the  point  of  in- 
capacity, she  put  the  book  back,  and  flew  to  her  own 
room,  the  prey  of  thoughts  bitter  almost  to  mad- 
ness. 

It  was  the  second  time  in  her  life  that  she  had 
been  called  upon  to  go  through  this  precise  torture. 
She  remembered  the  hour  only  too  well,  when  first 
it  was  made  known  to  her  that  one  in  closest  rela- 
tion to  herself  was  suspected  of  a  hideous  crime. 
And  now,  with  her  mind  cleared  towards  him  and 
readjusted  to  new  developments,  this  crushing  ex- 
perience of  seeing  equal  indications  of  guilt  in  an- 
other almost  as  dear  and  almost  as  closely  knit  into 
her  thoughts  and  future  expectations  as  John  had 
ever  been.  Can  one  endure  a  repetition  of  such 
horror?  She  had  never  gauged  her  strength,  but 
it  did  not  seem  possible.  Besides  of  the  two  blows, 
this  seemed  the  heaviest  and  the  most  revolting. 


1 82  DARK  HOLLOW 

Then,  only  her  own  happiness  and  honour  were  in- 
volved; now  it  was  Reuther's;  and  the  fortitude 
which  sustained  her  through  the  ignominy  of  her 
own  trouble,  failed  her  at  the  prospect  of  Reuther's. 
And  again,  the  two  cases  were  not  equal.  Her  hus- 
band had  had  traits  which,  in  a  manner,  had  pre- 
pared her  for  the  ready  suspicion  of  people.  But 
Oliver  was  a  man  of  reputation  and  kindly  heart; 
and  yet,  in  the  course  of  time  this  had  come,  and  the 
question  once  agitating  her  as  to  whether  Reuther  was 
a  fit  mate  for  him  had  now  evolved  itself  into  this : 
Was  he  a  fit  mate  for  her? 

She  had  rather  have  died,  nay,  have  had  Reuther 
die  than  to  find  herself  forced  to  weigh  and  decide 
so  momentous  a  question. 

For,  however  she  might  feel  about  it,  not  a  single 
illusion  remained  as  to  whose  hand  had  made  use  of 
John  Scoville's  stick  to  strike  down  Algernon  Ethe- 
ridge.  How  could  she  have  when  she  came  to  piece 
the  whole  story  together,  and  weigh  the  facts  she 
had  accumulated  against  Oliver  with  those  which  had 
proved  so  fatal  to  her  husband. 

First:  the  uncontrolled  temper  of  the  lad,  hints 
of  which  she  was  daily  receiving. 

Secondly:  his  absolute,  if  unreasonable,  hatred 
of  the  man  thus  brutally  assailed.  She  knew  what 
such  hatred  was  and  how  it  eats  into  an  undeveloped 
mind.  She  had  gone  through  its  agonies  herself 
when  she  was  a  young  girl,  and  knew  its  every  stage. 
With  jealousy  and  personal  distaste  for  a  start,  it 
was  easy  to  trace  the  revolt  of  this  boyish  heart  from 


REFLECTIONS  183 

the  intrusive,  ever  present  mentor  who  not  only 
shared  his  father's  affections  but  made  use  of  them  to 
influence  that  father  against  the  career  he  had 
chosen,  in  favour  of  one  he  not  only  disliked  but  for 
which  he  lacked  all  aptitude. 

She  saw  it  all  from  the  moment  his  pencil  dug 
into  the  paper  these  tell-tale  words:  /  hate  old  E 
to  that  awful  and  final  one  when  the  detested  student 
fell  in  the  woods  and  his  reign  over  the  judgment, 
as  well  as  over  the  heart,  of  Judge  Ostrander  was 
at  an  end. 

In  hate,  bitter,  boiling,  long-repressed  hate,  was 
found  the  motive  for  an  act  so  out  of  harmony  with 
the  condition  and  upbringing  of  a  lad  like  Oliver. 
She  need  look  for  no  other. 

But  motive  goes  for  little  if  not  supported  by  evi- 
dence. Was  it  possible,  with  this  new  theory  for  a 
basis,  to  reconstruct  the  story  of  this  crime  without 
encountering  the  contradiction  of  some  well-known 
fact? 

She  would  see. 

First,  this  matter  of  the  bludgeon  left,  as  her  hus- 
band declared,  leaning  against  the  old  oak  in  the 
bottom  of  the  ravine.  All  knew  the  tree  and  just 
where  it  stood.  If  Oliver,  in  his  eagerness  to  head 
off  Etheridge  at  the  bridge,  had  rushed  straight 
down  into  the  gully  from  Ostrander  Lane,  he  would 
almost  strike  this  tree  in  his  descent.  The  diagram 
sketched  on  page  185  will  make  this  plain.  What 
more  natural,  then,  than  for  him  to  catch  up  the  stick 
he  saw  there,  even  if  his  mind  had  not  been  deliber- 


i84  DARK  HOLLOW 

ately  set  on  violence.  A  weapon  is  a  weapon;  and 
an  angry  man  feels  easier  with  something  of  the  kind 
in  hand. 

Armed,  then,  in  this  unexpected  way,  but  evidently 
not  yet  decided  upon  crime  (or  why  his  nervous 
whittling  of  the  stick)  he  turned  towards  the  bridge, 
following  the  meandering  of  the  stream  which  in 
time  led  him  across  the  bare  spot  where  she  had 
seen  the  shadow.  That  it  was  his  shadow  no  one 
could  doubt  who  knew  all  the  circumstances,  and  that 
she  should  have  leant  just  long  enough  from  the 
ruins  to  mark  this  shadow  and  take  it  for  her  hus- 
band's —  and  not  long  enough  to  see  the  man  him- 
self and  so  detect  her  error,  was  one  of  those 
anomalies  of  crime  which  make  for  judicial  errors. 
John  skurrying  away  through  the  thicket  towards 
Claymore,  Oliver  threading  his  way  down  the  ravine, 
and  she  hurrying  away  from  the  ruin  above  with 
her  lost  Reuther  in  handl  Such  was  the  situation 
at  this  critical  moment.  Afterwards  when  she  came 
back  for  the  child's  bucket,  some  power  had  with- 
held her  from  looking  again  into  the  ravine  or  she 
might  have  been  witness  to  the  meeting  at  the  bridge, 
and  so  been  saved  the  misery  and  shame  of  believing 
as  long  as  she  did  that  the  man  who  intercepted 
Algernon  Etheridge  at  that  place  was  her  unhappy 
husband. 

The  knife  with  the  broken  point,  which  she  had 
come  upon  in  her  search  among  the  lad's  discarded 
effects,  proved  only  too  conclusively  that  it  was  his 
hand  which  had  whittled  the  end  of  the  bludgeon; 


REFLECTIONS 


185 


1 86  DARK  HOLLOW 

for  the  bit  of  steel  left  in  the  wood  and  the  bit  lost 
from  the  knife  were  to  her  exact  eye  of  the  same  size 
and  an  undoubted  fit.  , 

Oliver's  remorse,  the  judge's  discovery  of  his  guilt 
(a  discovery  which  may  have  been  soon  but  prob- 
ably was  late  —  so  late  that  the  penalty  of  the  doing 
had  already  been  paid  by  the  innocent) ,  can  only  be 
guessed  from  the  terrible  sequel:  a  son  dismissed,  a 
desolated  home  in  which  the  father  lived  as  a  recluse. 

How  the  mystery  cleared,  as  she  looked  at  it ! 
The  house  barred  from  guests  —  the  double  fence 
where,  hidden  from  all  eyes,  the  wretched  father 
might  walk  his  dreary  round  when  night  for- 
bade him  rest  or  memory  became  a  whip  of  scor- 
pions to  lash  him  into  fury  or  revolt  —  the  stairs 
never  passed —  (how  could  he  look  upon  rooms 
where  his  wife  had  dreamed  the  golden  dreams  of 
motherhood  and  the  boy  passed  his  days  of  inno- 
cent youth)  —  aye,  and  his  own  closed-up  room 
guarded  by  Bela  from  intrusion  as  long  as  breath 
remained  to  animate  his  sinking  body!  What  was 
its  secret?  Why,  Oliver's  portrait!  Had  this 
been  seen,  marked  as  it  was  for  all  men's  reprobation, 
nothing  could  have  stemmed  inquiry;  and  inquiry  was 
to  be  dreaded  as  Judge  Ostrander's  own  act  had 
shown.  Not  till  he  had  made  his  clumsy  attempt 
to  cover  this  memorial  of  love  and  guilt  and  rehang- 
ing  it,  thus  hidden,  where  it  would  attract  less  atten- 
tion, had  she  been  admitted  to  his  room.  Alas! 
alas!  that  he  had  not  destroyed  it  then  and  there. 
That,  clinging  to  habits  old  as  his  grief  and  the  re- 


REFLECTIONS  187 

morse  which  had  undoubtedly  devoured  him  for  the 
part  he  had  played  in  this  case  of  perverted  justice, 
he  had  trusted  to  a  sheet  of  paper  to  cover  what 
nothing  on  earth  could  cover,  once  Justice  were 
aroused  or  the  wrath  of  God  awakened. 

Deborah  shuddered.  Aye,  the  mystery  had 
cleared,  but  only  to  enshroud  her  spirits  anew  and 
make  her  long  with  all  her  bursting  heart  and  shud- 
dering soul  that  death  had  been  her  portion  before 
ever  she  had  essayed  to  lift  the  veil  held  down  so 
tightly  by  these  two  remorseful  men. 

But  was  her  fault  irremediable?  The  only  un- 
answerable connection  between  this  old  crime  and 
Oliver  lay  in  the  evidence  she  had  herself  collected. 
As  she  had  every  intention  of  suppressing  this  evi- 
dence, and  as  she  had  small  dread  of  any  one  else 
digging  out  the  facts  to  which  she  only  possessed  a 
clew,  might  she  not  hope  that  any  suspicions  raised 
by  her  inquiries  would  fall  like  a  house  of  cards 
when  she  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  toppling  struc- 
ture? 

She  would  make  her  first  effort  and  see.  Mr. 
Black  had  heard  her  complaint;  he  should  be  the 
first  to  learn  that  the  encouragement  she  had  received 
was  so  small  that  she  had  decided  to  accept  her 
present  good  luck  without  further  query,  and  not 
hark  back  to  a  past  which  most  people  had  buried. 


XIX 

ALANSON   BLACK 

"  You  began  it,  as  women  begin  most  things,  with- 
out thought  and  a  due  weighing  of  consequences. 
And  now  you  propose  to  drop  it  in  the  same  freak- 
ish manner.  Isn't  that  it?" 

Deborah  Scoville  lifted  her  eyes  in  manifest  dis- 
tress and  fixed  them  deprecatingly  upon  her  interro- 
gator. She  did  not  like  his  tone  which  was  dry  and 
suspiciously  sarcastic,  and  she  did  not  like  his  atti- 
tude which  was  formal  and  totally  devoid  of  all  sym- 
pathy. Instinctively  she  pushed  her  veil  still  further 
from  her  features  as  she  deprecatingly  replied: 

"  You  are  but  echoing  your  sex  in  criticising  mine 
as  impulsive.  And  you  are  quite  within  your  rights  in 
doing  this.  Women  are  impulsive;  they  are  even 
freakish.  But  it  is  given  to  one  now  and  then  to 
recognise  this  fact  and  acknowledge  it.  I  hope  I 
am  of  this  number;  I  hope  that  I  have  the  judg- 
ment to  see  when  I  have  committed  a  mistake  and 
to  stop  short  before  I  make  myself  ridiculous." 

The  lawyer  smiled, —  a  tight-lipped,  acrid  sort  of 
smile  which  nevertheless  expressed  as  mu'ch  admira- 
tion as  he  ever  allowed  himself  to  show. 

"Judgment,  eh?"  he  echoed.  "You  stop  be- 
cause your  judgment  tells  you  that  you  were  on  the 

iSS 


ALANSON  BLACK  189 

point  of  making  a  fool  of  yourself?  No  other  rea- 
son, eh?" 

"  Is  not  that  the  best  which  can  be  given  a  hard- 
headed,  clear-eyed  lawyer  like  yourself?  Would 
you  have  me  go  on,  with  no  real  evidence  to  back 
my  claims ;  rouse  up  this  town  to  reconsider  his  case 
when  I  have  nothing  to  talk  about  but  my  husband's 
oath  and  a  shadow  I  cannot  verify?  " 

"  Then  Miss  Weeks'  neighbourliness  failed  in 
point?  She  was  not  as  interesting  as  you  had  a 
right  to  expect  from  my  recommendation?  " 

"  Miss  Weeks  is  a  very  chatty  and  agreeable 
woman,  but  she  cannot  tell  what  she  does  not 
know." 

Mr.  Black  smiled.  The  woman  delighted  him. 
The  admiration  which  he  had  hitherto  felt  for  her 
person  and  for  the  character  which  could  so  develop 
through  misery  and  reproach  as  to  make  her  in 
twelve  short  years,  the  exponent  of  all  that  was  most 
attractive  and  bewitching  in  woman,  seemed  likely 
to  extend  to  her  mind.  Sagacious,  eh?  and  cautious, 
eh?  He  was  hardly  prepared  for  such  perfection, 
and  let  the  transient  lighting  up  of  his  features 
speak  for  him  till  he  was  ready  to  say : 

"  You  find  the  judge  very  agreeable,  now  that 
you  know  him  better?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Black.  But  what  has  that  got  to  do 
with  the  point  at  issue?  " 

And  she  smiled,  but  not  just  in  his  manner  nor 
with  quite  as  little  effect. 

"  Much,"  he  growled.     "  It  might  make  it  easier 


190  DARK  HOLLOW 

for  you  to  reconcile  yourself  to  the  existing  order 
of  things." 

"  I  am  reconciled  to  them  simply  from  necessity," 
was  her  gentle  response.  "  Nothing  is  more  pre- 
cious to  me  than  Reuther's  happiness.  I  should 
but  endanger  it  further  by  raising  false  hopes.  That 
is  why  I  have  come  to  cry  halt." 

"  Madam,  I  commend  your  decision.  It  is  that 
of  a  wise  and  considerate  woman.  Your  child's 
happiness  is,  of  course,  of  paramount  importance  to 
you.  But  why  should  you  characterise  your  hopes 
as  false,  just  when  there  seems  to  be  some  justifica- 
tion for  them." 

Her  eyes  widened,  and  she  regarded  him  with  a 
simulation  of  surprise  which  interested  without  im- 
posing upon  him. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  she.  "  Have 
you  come  upon  some  clew?  Have  you  heard  some- 
thing which  I  have  not?  " 

The  smile  with  which  he  seasoned  his  reply  was 
of  a  very  different  nature  from  that  which  he  had 
previously  bestowed  upon  her.  It  prepared  her, 
possibly,  for  the  shock  of  his  words: 

"  I  hardly  think  so,"  said  he.  "  If  I  do  not  mis- 
take, we  have  been  the  recipients  of  the  same  com- 
munications." 

She  started  to  her  feet,  but  sat  again  instantly. 
"  Pray  explain  yourself,"  she  urged.  "  Who  has 
been  writing  to  you?  And  what  have  they  writ- 
ten?" she  added,  presuming  a  little  upon  her  fas- 
cinations as  a  woman  to  win  an  honest  response. 


ALANSON  BLACK  191 

"Must  I  speak  first?" 

If  it  was  a  tilt,  it  was  between  even  forces. 

"  It  would  be  gentlemanly  in  you  to  do  so." 

"  But  I  am  not  of  a  gentlemanly  temper." 

"  I  deal  with  no  other,"  said  she;  but  with  what 
a  glance  and  in  what  a  tone ! 

A  man  may  hold  out  long  —  and  if  a  lawyer  and 
a  bachelor  more  than  long,  but  there  is  a  point- at 
which  he  succumbs.  Mr.  Black  had  reached  that 
point.  Smoothing  his  brow  and  allowing  a  more 
kindly  expression  to  creep  into  his  regard,  he  took 
two  or  three  crushed  and  folded  papers  from  a 
drawer  beside  him  and,  holding  them,  none  too 
plainly  in  sight,  remarked  very  quietly,  but  with  legal 
firmness : 

"  Do  not  let  us  play  about  the  bush  any  longer. 
You  have  announced  your  intention  of  making  no 
further  attempt  to  discover  the  man  who  in  your 
eyes  merited  the  doom  accorded  to  John  Scoville. 
Your  only  reason  for  this  —  if  you  are  the  woman 
I  think  you  —  lies  in  your  fear  of  giving  further  op- 
portunity to  the  misguided  rancour  of  an  irresponsi- 
ble writer  of  anonymous  epistles.  Am  I  not  right, 
madam?  " 

Beaten,  beaten  by  a  direct  assault,  because  she 
possessed  the  weaknesses,  as  well  as  the  pluck,  of  a 
woman.  She  could  control  the  language  of  her 
lips,  but  not  their  quivering;  she  could  meet  his  eye 
with  steady  assurance  but  she  could  not  keep  the  pal- 
lor from  her  cheeks  or  subdue  the  evidences  of  her 
heart's  turmoil.  Her  pitiful  glance  acknowledged 


192  DARK  HOLLOW 

her  defeat,  which  she  already  saw  mirrored  in  his 
eyes. 

Taking  it  for  an  answer,  he  said  gently  enough : 

"  That  we  may  understand  each  other  at  once,  I 
will  mention  the  person  who  has  been  made  the  sub- 
ject of  these  attacks.  He  — " 

"  Don't  speak  the  name,"  she  prayed,  leaning 
forward  and  laying  her  gloved  hand  upon  his  sleeve. 
"  It  is  not  necessary.  The  whole  thing  is  an  out- 
rage." 

"  Of  course,"  he  echoed,  with  some  of  his  natural 
brusqueness,  "  and  the  rankest  folly.  But  to  some 
follies  we  have  to  pay  attention,  and  I  fear  that  we 
shall  have  to  pay  attention  to  this  one  if  only  for 
your  daughter  Reuther's  sake.  You  cannot  wish 
her  to  become  the  butt  of  these  scandalous  at- 
tempts? " 

"  No,  no."  The  words  escaped  her  before  she 
realised  that  in  their  utterance  she  had  given  up  irre- 
trievably her  secret. 

"You  consider  them  scandalous?" 

"  Most  scandalous,"  she  emphatically  returned, 
with  a  vivacity  and  seeming  candour  such  as  he  had 
seldom  seen  equalled  even  on  the  witness-stand. 

His  admiration  was  quite  evident.  It  did  not 
prevent  him,  however,  from  asking  quite  abruptly: 

"  In  what  shape  and  by  what  means  did  this  com- 
munication reach  you  ?  " 

"  I  found  it  lying  on  the  walk  between  the  gates." 

"  The  same  by  which  Judge  Ostrander  leaves  the 
house?" 


ALANSON  BLACK  193 

"  Yes,"  came  in  faint  reply. 

"  I  see  that  you  share  my  fears.  If  one  such 
scrap  can  be  thrown  over  the  fence,  why  shouldn't 
another  be?  Men  who  indulge  themselves  in  writ- 
ing anonymous  accusations  seldom  limit  themselves 
to  one  effusion.  I  will  stake  my  word  that  the  judge 
has  found  more  than  one  on  his  lawn." 

She  could  not  have  responded  if  she  would; 
her  mouth  was  dry,  her  tongue  half  paralysed. 
What  was  coming?  The  glint  in  the  lawyer's  eye 
forewarned  her  that  something  scarcely  in  conso- 
nance with  her  hopes  and  wishes  might  be  expected. 

"  The  judge  has  seen  and  read  these  barefaced 
insinuations  against  his  son  and  has  not  turned  this 
whole  town  topsy-turvy!  What  are  we  to  think  of 
that?  A  lion  does  not  stop  to  meditate;  he  springs. 
And  Archibald  Ostrander  has  the  nature  of  a  lion. 
There  is  nothing  of  the  fox  or  even  of  the  tiger  in 
him.  Mrs.  Scoville,  this  is  a  very  serious  matter. 
I  do  not  wonder  that  you  are  a  trifle  overwhelmed 
by  the  results  of  your  ill-considered  investigations." 

"  Does  the  town  know?  Has  the  thing  become 
a  scandal  —  a  byword?  Miss  Weeks  gave  no 
proof  of  ever  having  heard  one  word  of  this  dread- 
ful not-to-be-foreseen  business." 

"  That  is  good  news.  You  relieve  me.  Perhaps 
it  is  not  a  general  topic  as  yet."  Then  shortly  and 
with  lawyer-like  directness,  "  Show  me  the  letter 
which  has  disturbed  all  your  plans." 

"  I  haven't  it  here." 

"You  didn't  bring  it?" 


194  DARK  HOLLOW 

"No,  Mr.  Black.  Why  should  I?  I  had  no 
premonition  that  I  should  ever  be  induced  to  show 
it  to  any  one,  least  of  all  to  you." 

"  Look  over  these.  Do  they  look  at  all  famil- 
iar?" 

She  glanced  down  at  the  crumpled  sheets  and 
half-sheets  he  had  spread  out  before  her.  They 
were  similar  in  appearance  to  the  one  she  had  picked 
up  on  the  judge's  grounds  but  the  language  was 
more  forcible,  as  witness  these: 

When  a  man  is  trusted  to  defend  another  on  trial  for 
his  life,  he's  supposed  to  know  his  business.  How  came  John 
Scomlle  to  hang,  without  a  thought  being  given  to  the  man 
who  hated  A.  Etheridge  like  poison?  I  could  name  a  cer- 
tain chap  who  more  than  once  in  the  old  days  boasted  that 
he'd  like  to  kill  the  fellow.  And  it  wasn't  Scoville  or  any 
one  of  his  low-down  stamp  either. 

A  high  and  mighty  name  shouldn't  shield  a  man  who  sent 
a  poor,  unfriended  wretch  to  his  death  in  order  to  save  his 
ewn  bacon. 

"  Horrible !  "  murmured  Deborah,  drawing  back 
in  terror  of  her  own  emotion.  "  It's  the  work  of 
some  implacable  enemy  taking  advantage  of  the  sit- 
uation I  have  created.  Mr.  Black,  this  man  must 
be  found  and  made  to  see  that  no  one  will  believe, 
not  even  Scoville's  widow  — " 

"There!  you  needn't  go  any  further  with  that," 
admonished  the  lawyer.  "  I  will  manage  him.  But 
first  we  must  make  sure  to  rightly  locate  this  enemy 


ALANSON  BLACK  195 

of  the  Ostranders.  You  do  detect  some  resem- 
blance between  this  writing  and  the  specimen  you 
have  at  home  ?  " 

"  They  are  very  much  alike." 

"  You  believe  one  person  wrote  them?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  who  this  person  is?  " 

"No;  why  should  I?" 

"  No  suspicion?  " 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world." 

"  I  ask  because  of  this,"  he  explained,  picking' out 
another  letter  and  smilingly  holding  it  out  towards 
her. 

She  read  it  with  flushed  cheeks. 

Listen  to  the  lady.  You  cant  listen  to  any  one  nicer. 
What  she  -wants  she  can  get.  There's  a  witness  you  never 
saw  or  heard  of. 

A  witness  they  had  never  heard  of!  What  wit- 
ness? Scarcely  could  she  lift  her  eyes  from  the 
paper.  Yet  there  was  a  possibility,  of  course,  that 
this  statement  was  a  lie. 

"  Stuff,  isn't  it?  "  muttered  the  lawyer.  "  Never 
mind,  we'll  soon  have  hold  of  the  writer."  His  face 
had  taken  on  a  much  more  serious  aspect,  and  she 
could  no  longer  complain  of  his  indifference  or  even 
of  his  sarcasm. 

"  You  will  give  me  another  opportunity  of  talk- 
ing with  you  on  this  matter,"  pursued  he.  "  If  you 
do  not  come  here,  you  may  expect  to  see  me  at  Judge 


196  DARK  HOLLOW 

Ostrander's.  I  do  not  quite  like  the  position  into 
which  you  have  been  thrown  by  these  absurd  insinua- 
tions from  some  unknown  person  who  may  be  think- 
ing to  do  you  a  service,  but  who  you  must  feel  is 
very  far  from  being  your  friend.  It  may  even  lead 
to  your  losing  the  home  which  has  been  so  for- 
tunately opened  for  you.  If  this  occurs,  you  may 
count  on  my  friendship,  Mrs.  Scoville.  I  may  have 
failed  you  once,  but  I  will  not  fail  you  twice." 

Surprised,  almost  touched,  she  held  out  her  hand, 
with  a  cordial  Thank  you,  in  which  emotion  struggled 
with  her  desire  to  preserve  an  appearance  of  com- 
plete confidence  in  Judge  Ostrander,  and  incidentally 
in  his  son.  Then,  being  on  her  feet  by  this  time, 
she  turned  to  go,  anxious  to  escape  further  embar- 
rassment from  a  perspicacity  she  no  longer  possessed 
the  courage  to  meet. 

The  lawyer  appeared  to  acquiesce  in  the  move- 
ment of  departure.  But  when  he  saw  her  about  to 
vanish  through  the  door,  some  impulse  of  compunc- 
tion, as  real  as  it  was  surprising,  led  him  to  call  her 
back  and  seat  her  once  more  in  the  chair  she  had  so 
lately  left. 

"  I  cannot  let  you  go,"  said  he,  "  until  you  under- 
stand that  these  insinuations  from  a  self-called  wit- 
ness would  not  be  worth  our  attention  if  there  were 
not  a  few  facts  to  give  colour  to  his  wild  claims. 
Oliver  Ostrander  was  in  that  ravine  connecting  with 
Dark  Hollow,  very  near  the  time  of  the  onslaught 
on  Mr.  Etheridge;  and  he  certainly  hated  the 
man  and  wanted  him  out  of  the  way.  The  whole 


ALANSON  BLACK  197 

town  knows  that,  with  one  exception.  You  know 
that  exception?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  she  acceded,  taking  a  fresh  grip 
upon  her  emotions. 

"  That  this  was  anything  more  than  a  coincidence 
has  never  been  questioned.  He  was  not  even  sum- 
moned as  a  witness.  With  the  judge's  high  reputa* 
tion  in  mind  I  do  not  think  a  single  person  could 
have  been  found  in  those  days  to  suggest  any  possi- 
ble connection  between  this  boy  and  a  crime  so  ob- 
viously premeditated.  But  people's  minds  change 
with  time  and  events,  and  Oliver  Ostrander's  name 
uttered  in  this  connection  to-day  would  not  occasion 
the  same  shock  to  the  community  as  it  would  have 
done  then.  You  understand  me,  Mrs.  Scoville?" 

"  You  allude  to  the  unexplained  separation  be- 
tween himself  and  father,  and  not  to  any  failure  on 
his  part  to  sustain  the  reputation  of  his  family?  " 

"  Oh,  he  has  made  a  good  position  for  himself, 
and  earned  universal  consideration.  But  that 
doesn't  weigh  against  the  prejudices  of  people, 
roused  by  such  eccentricities  as  have  distinguished 
the  conduct  of  these  two  men." 

"Alas!"  she  murmured,  frightened  to  the  soul 
for  the  first  time,  both  by  his  manner  and  his  words. 

''  You  know  and  I  know,"  he  went  on  with  a  grim- 
ness  possibly  suggested  by  his  subject,  "  that  no  mere 
whim  lies  back  of  such  a  preposterous  seclusion  as 
that  of  Judge  Ostrander  behind  his  double  fence. 
Sons  do  not  cut  loose  from  fathers  or  fathers  from 
sons  without  good  cause.  You  can  see,  then,  that 


198  DARK  HOLLOW 

the  peculiarities  of  their  mutual  history  form  but  a 
poor  foundation  for  any  light  refutation  of  this 
scandal,  should  it  reach  the  public  mind.  Judge  Os- 
trander  knows  this,  and  you  know  that  he  knows 
this;  hence  your  distress.  Have  I  not  read  your 
mind,  madam?  " 

"  No  one  can  read  my  mind  any  more  than  they 
can  read  Judge  Ostrander's,"  she  avowed  in  a  last 
desperate  attempt  to  preserve  her  secret.  "  You 
may  think  you  have  done  so,  but  what  assurance  can 
you  have  of  the  fact?  " 

"  You  are  strong  in  their  defence,"  said  he,  "  and 
you  will  need  to  be  if  the  matter  ever  comes  up. 
The  shadows  from  Dark  Hollow  reach  far,  and  en- 
gulf all  they  fall  upon." 

"  Mr.  Black  " —  she  had  re-risen  the  better  to 
face  him  —  "  you  want  something  from  me  —  a 
promise,  or  a  condition." 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  this  is  my  affair  only  as  it  af- 
fects you.  I  simply  wished  to  warn  you  of  what  you 
might  have  to  face;  and  what  Judge  Ostrander  will 
have  to  face  (here  I  drop  the  lawyer  and  speak  only 
as  a  man)  if  he  is  not  ready  to  give  a  more  consistent 
explanation  of  the  curious  facts  I  have  mentioned." 

"  I  cannot  warn  him,  Mr.  Black." 

"  You?  Of  course  not.  Nobody  can  warn  him; 
possibly  no  one  should  warn  him.  But  I  have 
warned  you;  and  now,  as  a  last  word,  let  us  hope 
that  no  warning  is  necessary  and  that  we  shall 
soon  see  the  last  of  these  calumniating  letters  and 
everything  readjusted  once  more  on  a  firm  and 


ALANSON  BLACK  199 

natural  basis.  Judge  Ostrander's  action  in  reopen- 
ing his  house  in  the  manner  and  for  the  purpose  he 
has,  has  predisposed  many  in  his  favour.  It  may, 
before  we  know  it,  make  the  past  almost  forgotten." 

"  Meanwhile  you  will  make  an  attempt  to  dis- 
cover the  author  of  these  anonymous  attacks?" 

"  To  save  you  from  annoyance." 

Obliged  to  make  acknowledgment  of  the  courtesy 
if  not  kindness  prompting  these  words,  Mrs.  Scoville 
expressed  her  gratitude  and  took  farewell  in  a  way 
which  did  not  seem  to  be  at  all  displeasing  to  the 
crusty  lawyer;  but  when  she  found  herself  once  more 
in  the  streets,  her  anxiety  and  suspense  took  on  a  new 
phase.  What  was  at  the  bottom  of  Mr.  Black's 
contradictory  assertions?  Sympathy  with  her,  as  he 
would  have  her  believe,  or  a  secret  feeling  of  ani- 
mosity towards  the  man  he  openly  professed  to  ad- 
mire? 


XX 

WHAT    HAD    MADE   THE    CHANGE? 

"  REUTHER,  sit  up  here  close  by  mother  and  let  me 
talk  to  you  for  a  little  while." 

"Yes,  mother;  oh,  yes,  mother."  Deborah  felt 
the  beloved  head  pressed  close  to  her  shoulder  and 
two  soft  arms  fall  about  her  neck. 

"Are  you  very  unhappy?  Is  my  little  one  pin- 
ing too  much  for  the  old  days?  " 

A  closer  pressure  of  the  head,  a  more  vehement 
clasp  of  the  encircling  arms,  but  no  words. 

"  You  have  seemed  brighter  lately.  I  have  heard 
you  sing  now  and  then  as  if  the  joy  of  youth  was  not 
quite  absent  from  your  heart.  Is  that  true,  or  were 
you  merely  trying  to  cheer  your  mother?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  was  trying  to  cheer  the  judge," 
came  in  low  whisper  to  her  ear.  "  When  I  hear  his 
step  in  the  study  —  that  monotonous  tramp,  tramp, 
which  we  both  dread,  I  feel  such  an  ache  here,  such 
a  desire  to  comfort  him,  that  I  try  the  one  little 
means  I  have  to  divert  him  from  his  thoughts.  He 
must  be  so  lonely  without — " 

"  Reuther,  you  forget  how  many  years  have 
passed  since  he  had  a  companion.  A  man  becomes 
used  to  loneliness.  A  judge  with  heavy  cases  on  his 
mind  must  think  and  think  very  closely,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  it's  not  of  his  cases  our  judge  is 


WHAT  HAD  MADE  THE  CHANGE?     201 

thinking  when  he  walks  like  that.  I  know  him  too 
well,  love  him  too  well,  not  to  feel  the  trouble  in  his 
step.  I  may  be  wrong,  but  all  the  sympathy  and 
understanding  I  may  not  give  to  Oliver  I  devote  to 
his  father,  and  when  he  walks  like  that  he  seems  to 
drag  my  heart  after  him.  Mamma,  mamma,  do  not 
blame  me.  I  have  just  as  much  affection  for  you, 
and  I  suffer  just  as  keenly  when  I  see  you  unhappy. 
And,  mamma,  are  you  sure  that  you  are  quite  happy 
to-day?  You  look  as  if  something  had  happened  to 
trouble  you  —  something  more  than  usual,  I  mean." 

They  were  sitting  in  the  dark,  with  just  the  light 
of  the  stars  shining  through  the  upper  panes  of  the 
one  unshaded  window.  Deborah,  therefore,  had 
little  to  fear  from  her  daughter's  eye,  only  from  the 
sensitiveness  of  her  touch  and  the  quickness  of  her 
ear.  Alas,  in  this  delicately  organised  girl  these 
were  both  attuned  to  the  nicest  discrimination,  and 
before  the  mother  could  speak,  Reuther  had  started 
up,  crying: 

"  Oh,  how  your  heart  beats !  Something  has  hap- 
pened, darling  mother;  something  which — " 

"Hush,  Reuther;  it  is  only  this:  When  I  came 
to  Shelby  it  was  with  a  hope  that  I  might  some  day 
smooth  the  way  to  your  happiness.  But  it  was  only 
a  wild  dream,  Reuther;  and  the  hour  has  come  for 
me  to  tell  you  so.  What  joys  are  left  us  must  come 
in  other  ways;  love  unblessed  must  be  put  aside  reso- 
lutely and  forever." 

She  felt  the  shudder  pass  through  the  slender  form 
which  had  thrown  itself  again  at  her  side;  but  when 


202  DARK  HOLLOW 

the  young  girl  spoke  it  was  with  unexpected  bravery 
and  calm. 

"  I  have  long  ago  done  that,  mamma.  I've  had 
no  hopes  from  the  first.  The  look  with  which  Oli- 
ver accepted  my  refusal  to  go  on  with  the  ceremony 
was  one  of  gratitude,  mother.  I  can  never  forget 
that.  Relief  struggled  with  grief.  Would  you 
have  me  cherish  any  further  illusions  after  that?  " 

Mrs.  Scoville  was  silent.  So,  after  all,  Reuther 
had  not  been  so  blind  on  that  day  as  she  had  always 
feared. 

"  Oliver  has  faults  —  Oh,  let  me  talk  about  him 
just  for  once,  darling  mother,"  the  poor,  stricken 
child  babbled  on.  "  His  temper  is  violent,  or  so  he 
has  often  told  me,  coming  and  going  like  a  gust  of 
—  No,  mamma,  don't  make  me  stop.  If  he  has 
faults  he  has  good  traits  too.  He  was  always  gen- 
tle with  me  and  if  that  far-away  look  you  did  not 
like  would  come  at  times  and  take  him,  as  it  were, 
out  of  our  world,  such  a  sweet  awakening  would  fol- 
low when  he  realised  that  I  was  waiting  for  his  spirit 
to  come  back,  that  I  never  minded  the  mystery, 
in  my  joy  at  the  comfort  which  my  love  gave 
him." 

"My  child,  my  child!" 

"  Mother,  I  can  soothe  the  father,  but  I  can  no 
longer  soothe  Oliver.  That  is  my  saddest  thought. 
It  makes  me  wish,  sometimes,  that  he  would  find 
another  loving  heart  on  which  he  could  lean  without 
any  self-reproach.  I  should  soon  learn  to  bear  it. 
It  would  so  assure  his  future  and  rid  me  of  the  fear 


WHAT  HAD  MADE  THE  CHANGE?     203 

that  he  may  fail  to  hold  the  place  he  has  won  by  such 
hard  work  and  persistence." 

A  moment's  silence,  then  a  last  appeal  on  the  part 
of  the  mother. 

"  Reuther,  have  I  ever  been  harsh  to  you?  " 

11  No,  no." 

"  Then  you  will  not  think  me  unkind  or  even  un- 
tender  if  I  say  that  every  loving  thought  you  give 
now  to  Oliver  is  hurtful  both  to  yourself  and  to  me. 
Don't  indulge  in  them,  my  darling.  Put  your  heart 
into  work  or  into  music,  and  your  mother  will  bless 
you.  Won't  it  help  you  to  know  this,  Reuther? 
Your  mother,  who  has  had  her  griefs,  will  bless 
you." 

"Mother,  mother!" 

That  night,  at  a  later  hour,  Deborah  struggled 
with  a  great  temptation. 

The  cap  which  hung  in  Oliver's  closet  —  the 
knife  which  lay  in  the  drawer  of  Oliver's  desk  — 
were  to  her  mind  positive  proofs  of  his  actual  con- 
nection with  the  crime  she  now  wished  to  see  buried 
for  all  time  in  her  husband's  grave.  The  threat  of 
that  unknown  indicter  of  mysterious  letters,  /  know 
a  witness,  had  sunk  deep  into  her  mind.  A  witness 
of  what?  Of  anything  which  the  discovery  of  these 
articles  might  substantiate?  'If  so,  what  peril  re- 
mained in  their  continued  preservation  when  an  ef- 
fort on  her  part  might  so  easily  destroy  them. 

Sleep,  long  a  stranger  to  her  pillow,  forsook  her 
entirely  as  she  faced  this  question  and  realised  the 


204  DARK  HOLLOW 

gain  in  peace  which  might  be  hers  if  cap  and  knife 
were  gone.  Why  then  did  she  allow  them  to  re- 
main, the  one  in  the  closet,  the  other  in  the  drawer? 
Because  she  could  not  help  herself.  Instinct  was 
against  her  meddling  with  these  possible  proofs  of 
crime. 

But  this  triumph  of  conscience  cost  her  dear.  The 
next  morning  found  her  pale  —  almost  as  pale  as 
Reuther.  Was  that  why  the  judge  surveyed  her  so 
intently  as  she  poured  out  the  coffee,  and  seemed 
more  than  once  on  the  point  of  addressing  her  par- 
ticularly, as  she  went  through  the  usual  routine  of 
tidying  up  his  room? 

She  asked  herself  this  question  more  than  once, 
and  found  it  answered  every  time  she  hurried  by  the 
mirror.  Certainly  she  showed  a  remarkable  pallor. 

Knowing  its  cause  herself,  she  did  not  invite  his 
inquiries;  and  another  day  passed.  With  the  fol- 
lowing morning  she  felt  strong  enough  to  open  the 
conversation  which  had  now  become  necessary  for 
her  peace  of  mind. 

She  waited  till  the  moment  when,  her  work  all 
done,  she  was  about  to  leave  his  presence.  Pausing 
till  she  caught  his  eye,  which  seemed  a  little  loth, 
she  thought,  to  look  her  way,  she  observed,  with 
perhaps  unnecessary  distinctness: 

"  I  hope  that  everything  is  to  your  mind,  Judge 
Ostrander.  I  should  be  sorry  not  to  make  you  as 
comfortable  as  is  possible  under  the  circumstances." 

Roused  a  little  suddenly,  perhaps,  from  thoughts 
quite  disconnected  with  those  of  material  comfort, 


SILENCE!       NOT    EVEN    HEAVEN    SPOKE 


WHAT  HAD  MADE  THE  CHANGE?     205 

lie  nodded  with  the  abstraction  of  one  who  recog- 
nises that  some  sort  of  acknowledgment  is  expected 
from  him;  then,  seeing  her  still  waiting,  added  po- 
litely: 

"  I  am  very  well  looked  after,  if  that  is  what  you 
mean,  Mrs.  Scoville.  Bela  could  not  do  any  better 
—  if  he  ever  did  as  well." 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  replied,  thinking  with  what  hu- 
mour this  would  have  struck  her  once.  "I  —  I  ask 
because,  having  nothing  on  my  mind  but  housekeep- 
ing, I  desire  to  remedy  anything  which  is  not  in  ac- 
cordance with  your  exact  wishes." 

His  attention  was  caught  and  by  the  very  phrase 
she  desired. 

"Nothing  on  your  mind  but  housekeeping?"  he 
repeated.  "  I  thought  you  had  something  else  of  a 
very  particular  nature  with  which  to  occupy  your- 
self." 

"  I  had;  but  I  have  been  advised  against  pursuing 
it.  The  folly  was  too  great." 

"Who  advised  you?" 

The  words  came  short  and  sharp  just  as  they  must 
have  come  in  those  old  days  when  he  confronted 
his  antagonists  at  the  bar. 

"  Mr.  Black.  He  was  my  husband's  counsel,  you 
remember.  He  says  that  I  should  only  have  my 
trouble  for  my  pains,  and  I  have  come  to  agree  with 
him.  Reuther  must  content  herself  with  the  hap- 
piness of  living  under  this  roof;  and  I,  with  the  hope 
of  contributing  to  your  comfort." 

Had  she  impressed  him?     Had  she  played  her 


206  DARK  HOLLOW 

part  with  success?  Dare  she  lift  her  eye  and  meet 
the  gaze  she  felt  concentrated  upon  her?  No.  He 
must  speak  first.  She  must  have  some  clew  to  the 
effect  she  had  produced  before  she  risked  his  pene- 
tration by  a  direct  look. 

She  had  to  wait  longer  than  her  beating  heart  de- 
sired. He  had  his  own  agitation  to  master,  and  pos- 
sibly his  own  doubts.  This  was  not  the  fiery, 
determined  woman  he  had  encountered  amid  the 
ruins  of  Spencer's  Folly.  What  had  made  the 
change?  Black's  discouraging  advice?  Hardly. 
Why  should  she  take  from  that  hard-faced  lawyer 
what  she  had  not  been  willing  to  take  from  him- 
self? There  must  have  been  some  other  influencing 
cause. 

His  look,  his  attitude, 'his  voice,  betrayed  his  hesi- 
tations, as  he  finally  remarked: 

"  Black  is  a  man  of  excellent  counsel,  but  he  is 
hard  as  a  stone  and  not  of  the  sort  whose  monitions 
I  should  expect  to  have  weight  with  one  like  you. 
What  did  he  put  in  the  balance, —  or  what  have  oth- 
ers put  in  the  balance,  to  send  your  passionate  inten- 
tions flying  up  to  the  beam?  I  should  be  glad  to 
hear." 

Should  she  tell  him?  She  had  a  momentary  im- 
pulse that  way.  Then  the  irrevocableness  of  such 
a  move  frightened  her;  and,  pale  with  dismay  at 
what  she  felt  to  be  a  narrow  escape  from  a  grave 
error  of  judgment,  she  answered  with  just  enough 
truth,  for  her  to  hope  that  the  modicum  of  falsehood 
accompanying  it  would  escape  his  attention: 


WHAT  HAD  MADE  THE  CHANGE?    207 

"  What  has  changed  my  intentions?  My  experi- 
ence here,  Judge  Ostrander.  With  every  day  I  pass 
under  this  roof,  I  realise  more  and  more  the  mistake 
I  made  in  supposing  that  any  change  in  circumstances 
would  make  a  union  between  our  two  children 
proper  or  feasible.  Headstrong  as  I  am  by  nature, 
I  have  still  some  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  and 
it  is  that  sense  awakened  by  a  better  knowledge  of 
what  the  Ostrander  name  stands  for,  which  has  out- 
weighed my  hopes  and  mad  intentions.  I  am  sorry 
that  I  ever  troubled  you  with  them." 

The  words  were  ambiguous;  startlingly  so,  she 
felt;  but,  in  hope  that  they  would  strike  him  other- 
wise, she  found  courage  at  last  to  raise  her  eyes  in 
search  of  what  lay  in  his.  Nothing,  or  so  she 
thought  at  first,  beyond  the  glint  of  a  natural  inter- 
est; then  her  mind  changed,  and  she  felt  that  it 
would  take  one  much  better  acquainted  with  his 
moods  than  herself  to  read  to  its  depths  a  gaze  so 
sombre  and  inscrutable. 

His  answer,  coming  after  a  moment  of  decided 
suspense,  only  deepened  this  impression.  It  was  to 
this  effect: 

"  Madam,  we  have  said  our  say  on  this  subject. 
If  you  have  come  to  see  the  matter  as  I  see  it,  I  can 
but  congratulate  you  upon  your  good  sense,  and  ex- 
press the  hope  that  it  will  continue  to  prevail.  Reu- 
ther  is  worthy  of  the  best — "  he  stopped  abruptly. 
"  Reuther  is  a  girl  after  my  own  heart,"  he  gently 
supplemented,  with  a  glance  towards  his  papers  lying 
in  a  bundle  at  his  elbow,  "  and  she  shall  not  suffer 


208  DARK  HOLLOW 

because  of  this  disappointment  to  her  girlish  hopes. 
Tell  her  so  with  my  love." 

It  was  a  plain  dismissal.  Mrs.  Scoville  took  it  as 
such,  and  quietly  left  the  room.  As  she  did  so  she 
was  approached  by  Reuther  who  handed  her  a  letter 
which  had  just  been  delivered.  It  was  from  Mr. 
Black  and  read  thus: 

We  have  found  the  rogue  and  have  succeeded  in  inducing 
him  to  leave  town.  He's  a  man  in  the  bill-sticking  business 
and  he  owns  to  a  grievance  against  the  person  we  know. 

Deborah's  sleep  that  night  was  without  dreams. 


XXI 

IN  THE  COURT  ROOM 

ABOUT  this  time,  the  restless  pacing  of  the  judge  in 
his  study  at  nights  became  more  frequent  and  lasted 
longer.  In  vain  Reuther  played  her  most  cheerful 
airs  and  sang  her  sweetest  songs,  the  monotonous 
tramp  kept  up  with  a  regularity  nothing  could  break. 

"  He's  worried  by  the  big  case  now  being  tried 
before  him,"  Deborah  would  say,  when  Reuther's 
eyes  grew  wide  and  misty  in  her  sympathetic  trou- 
ble. And  there  was  no  improbability  in  the  plea, 
for  it  was  a  case  of  much  moment,  and  of  great  local 
interest.  A  man  was  on  trial  for  his  life  and  the 
circumstances  of  the  case  were  such  that  the  feeling 
called  forth  was  unusually  bitter;  so  much  so,  in- 
deed, that  every  word  uttered  by  the  counsel  and 
every  decision  made  by  the  judge  were  discussed 
from  one  end  of  the  county  to  the  other,  and  in 
Shelby,  if  nowhere  else,  took  precedence  of  all  other 
topics,  though  it  was  a  Presidential  year  and  party 
sympathies  ran  high. 

The  more  thoughtful  spirits  were  inclined  to  be- 
lieve in  the  innocence  of  the  prisoner;  but  the  lower 
elements  of  the  town,  moved  by  class  prejudice,  were 
bitterly  antagonistic  to  his  cause  and  loud  for  his 
conviction. 

Did  the  judge  realise  his  position  and  the  effect 
209 


aio  DARK  HOLLOW 

made  upon  the  populace  by  his  very  evident  leaning 
towards  this  dissipated  but  well-connected  young 
man  accused  of  a  crime  so  brutal,  that  he  must  either 
have  been  the  sport  of  most  malicious  circumstances, 
or  a  degenerate  of  the  worst  type.  The  time  of 
Judge  Ostrander's  office  was  nearly  up,  and  his 
future  continuance  on  the  bench  might  very  easily 
depend  upon  his  attitude  at  the  present  hearing. 
Yet  he,  without  apparent  recognition  of  this  fact, 
showed  without  any  hesitancy  or  possibly  without 
self-consciousness,  the  sympathy  he  felt  for  the  man 
at  the  bar,  and  ruled  accordingly  almost  without  va- 
riation. 

No  wonder  he  paced  the  floor  as  the  proceedings 
drew  towards  its  close  and  the  inevitable  hour  ap- 
proached when  a  verdict  must  be  rendered.  Mrs. 
Scoville,  reading  his  heart  by  the  light  of  her  recent 
discoveries,  understood  as  nobody  else,  the  workings 
of  his  conscience  and  the  passion  of  sympathy  which 
this  unhappy  father  must  have  for  misguided  youth. 
She  began  to  fear  for  his  health  and  count  the  days 
till  this  ordeal  was  over. 

In  other  regards,  quiet  had  come  to  them  all  and 
less  tempestuous  fears.  Could  the  judge  but  weather 
the  possible  conviction  of  this  man  and  restrain  him- 
self from  a  disclosure  of  his  own  suffering,  more 
cheerful  days  might  be  in  store  for  them,  for  no  fur- 
ther missives  were  to  be  seen  on  the  lawn,  nor  had 
anything  occurred  for  days  to  recall  to  Deborah's 
mind  the  move  she  had  made  towards  re-establishing 
her  husband's  innocence. 


IN  THE  COURT  ROOM  211 

A  week  passed,  and  the  community  was  all  agog, 
in  anticipation  of  the  judge's  charge  in  the  case  just 
mentioned.  It  was  to  be  given  at  noon,  and  Mrs. 
Scoville,  conscious  that  he  had  not  slept  an  hour  the 
night  before  (having  crept  down  more  than  once  to 
listen  if  his  step  had  ceased),  approached  him  as  he 
prepared  to  leave  the  house  for  the  court  room,  and 
anxiously  asked  if  he  were  quite  well. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  well,"  he  responded  sharply,  look- 
ing about  for  Reuther. 

The  young  girl  was  standing  a  little  behind  him, 
with  his  gloves  in  her  hand  —  a  custom  she  had 
fallen  into  in  her  desire  to  have  his  last  look  and 
fond  good  morning. 

"  Come  here,  child,"  said  he,  in  a  way  to  make 
her  heart  beat;  and,  as  he  took  the  gloves  from  her 
hand,  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead  — • 
something  he  had  never  done  before.  "  Let  me  see 
you  smile,"  said  he.  "  It's  a  memory  I  like  to  take 
with  me  into  the  court  room." 

But  when  in  her  pure  delight  at  his  caress  and  the 
fatherly  feeling  which  gave  a  tremor  to  his  simple, 
request,  she  lifted  her  face  with  that  angelic  look  of 
hers  which  was  far  sweeter  and  far  more  moving 
than  any  smile,  he  turned  away  abruptly  as  though 
he  had  been  more  hurt  than  comforted,  and  strode 
out  of  the  house  without  another  word. 

Deborah's  hand  went  to  her  heart,  in  the  dark  cor- 
ner whither  she  had  withdrawn  herself,  and  when 
she  turned  again  towards  the  spot  where  Reuther 
had  stood,  it  was  in  some  fear  lest  she  had  betrayed 


212  DARK  HOLLOW 

her  understanding  of  this  deeply  tried  father's  pas- 
sionate pain.  But  Reuther  was  no  longer  there.  She 
had  fled  quickly  away  with  the  memory  of  what  was 
to  make  this  day  a  less  dreary  one  for  her. 

Morning  passed  and  the  noon  came,  bringing 
Deborah  an  increased  uneasiness.  When  lunch  was 
over  and  Reuther  sat  down  to  her  piano,  the  feeling 
had  grown  into  an  obsession,  which  soon  resolved  it- 
self into  a  definite  fear. 

"  What  if  an  attack,  such  as  I  once  saw,  should 
come  upon  him  while  he  sits  upon  the  bench !  Why 
have  I  not  thought  of  this  before?  O  God!  these 
evil  days  !  When  will  they  be  over !  " 

She  found  herself  so  restless  that  she  decided  upon 
going  out.  Donning  her  quietest  gown  and  veil, 
she  looked  in  on  Reuther  and  expressed  her  inten- 
tion; then  slipped  out  of  the  front  door,  hardly  know- 
ing whither  her  feet  would  carry  her. 

They  did  not  carry  her  far, —  not  at  this  moment 
at  least.  On  the  walk  outside  she  met  Miss  Weeks 
hurrying  towards  her  from  the  corner,  stumbling  in 
her  excitement  and  so  weakened  in  body  or  spirit 
that  she  caught  at  the  unresponsive  fence  for  the 
support  which  its  smooth  surface  refused  to  give  her. 

At  sight  of  Deborah's  figure,  she  paused  and 
threw  up  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Scoville,  such  a  dreadful  thing !  "  she 
cried.  "Look  here!"  And,  opening  one  of  her 
hands,  she  showed  a  few  torn  scraps  of  paper  whose 
familiarity  made  Deborah's  blood  run  cold. 

"  On  the  bridge,"  gasped  the  little  lady,  leaning 


IN  THE  COURT  ROOM  213 

against  the  fence  for  support.  "  Pasted  on  the 
railing  of  the  bridge.  I  should  never  have  seen  it, 
nor  looked  at  it,  if  it  hadn't  been  that  I  — " 

"  Don't  tell  me  here,"  urged  Deborah.  "  Let's 
go  over  to  your  house.  See,  there  are  people  com- 
ing." 

The  little  lady  yielded  to  the  other's  constraining 
hand  and  together  they  crossed  the  street.  Once  in 
the  house,  Deborah  allowed  her  full  apprehension  to 
show  itself. 

"  What  were  the  words?  What  was  on  the  pa- 
per? Anything  about — " 

The  little  woman's  look  of  horror  stopped  her. 

"  It's  a  lie,  an  awful,  abominable  lie.  But  think 
of  such  a  lie  being  pasted  up  on  that  dreadful  bridge 
for  any  one  to  see.  After  twelve  years,  Mrs.  Sco- 
ville!  After — "  But  here  indignation  changed 
suddenly  into  suspicion,  and  eyeing  her  visitor  with 
sudden  disfavour  she  cried:  "This  is  your  work, 
madam.  Your  inquiries  and  your  talk  of  John  Sco- 
ville's  innocence  has  set  wagging  all  the  villainous 
tongues  in  town.  And  I  remember  something  else. 
How  you  came  smirking  into  this  very  room  one 
day,  with  your  talk  about  caps  and  Oliver  Ostran- 
der's  doings  on  the  day  when  Algernon  Etheridge 
was  murdered.  You  were  in  search  of  information, 
I  see;  information  against  the  best,  the  brightest  — 
Well,  why  don't  you  speak?  I'll  give  you  the  chance 
if  you  want  it.  Don't  stand  looking  at  me  like  that. 
I'm  not  used  to  it,  Mrs.  Scoville.  I'm  a  peaceable 
woman  and  I'm  not  used  to  it." 


214  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  Miss  Weeks  — "  Ah,  the  oil  of  that  golden 
speech  on  troubled  waters!  What  was  its  charm? 
What  message  did  it  carry  from  Deborah's  warm, 
true  heart  that  its  influence  should  be  so  miraculous  ? 
"  Miss  Weeks,  you  have  forgotten  my  interest  in 
Oliver  Ostrander.  He  was  my  daughter's  lover. 
He  was  my  own  ideal  of  a  gifted,  kind-hearted,  if 
somewhat  mysterious,  young  man.  No  calumny 
uttered  against  him  can  awaken  in  you  half  the  sor- 
row and  indignation  it  does  in  me.  Let  me  see 
those  lines  or  what  there  is  left  of  them  so  that  I 
may  share  your  feelings.  They  must  be  dread- 
ful—" 

"  They  are  more  than  dreadful.  I  don't  know 
how  I  had  strength  to  pull  these  pieces  off.  I 
couldn't  have  done  it  if  they  had  been  quite  dry. 
But  what  do  you  want  to  see  them  for?  I'd  have 
left  them  there  if  I  had  been  willing  to  have  them 
seen.  They  are  for  the  kitchen  fire.  Wait  a  mo- 
ment and  then  we  will  talk." 

But  Deborah  had  no  mind  to  let  these  pieces  es- 
cape her  eye.  Sick  as  she  felt  at  heart,  she  exerted 
herself  to  win  the  little  woman's  confidence;  and 
when  Deborah  exerted  herself,  even  under  such  ad- 
verse conditions  as  these,  she  seldom  failed  to  suc- 
ceed. 

Nor  did  she  fail  now.  At  the  end  of  fifteen  min- 
utes she  had  the  torn  bits  of  paper  arranged  in  their 
proper  position  and  was  reading  these  words: 

The  scene  of  Oliv  der's  crime. 


IN  THE  COURT  ROOM  215 

Nothing  could  be  more  explicit  nothing  more 
damaging.  As  the  glances  of  the  two  women  met, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  tell  on  which  face  Distress 
hung  out  the  whiter  flag. 

"The  beginning  of  the  end!"  was  Deborah's 
thought.  "  If  after  Mr.  Black's  efforts,  a  charge 
like  this  is  found  posted  up  in  the  public  ways,  the 
ruin  of  the  Ostranders  is  determined  upon,  and  noth- 
ing we  can  do  can  stop  it." 

In  five  minutes  more  she  had  said  good-bye  to  Miss 
Weeks  and  was  on  her  way  to  the  courthouse. 

This  building  occupied  one  end  of  a  large  paved 
square  in  the  busiest  part  of  the  town.  As  Deborah 
approached  it,  she  was  still  further  alarmed  by  find- 
ing this  square  full  of  people,  standing  in  groups  or 
walking  impatiently  up  and  down  with  their  eyes 
fixed  on  the  courthouse  doors.  The  case  which  had 
agitated  the  whole  country  for  days  was  now  in  the 
hands  of  the  jury  and  a  verdict  was  momentarily  ex- 
pected. 

So  much  for  appearances  outside.  Within,  there 
was  the  uneasy  hum,  the  anxious  look,  the  subdued 
movement  which  marks  an  universal  suspense.  An- 
nouncement had  been  made  that  the  jury  had  reached 
their  verdict,  and  counsel  were  resuming  their  places 
and  the  judge  his  seat. 

Those  who  had  eyes  only  for  the  latter  —  and 
these  were  many  —  noticed  a  change  in  him.  He 
looked  older  by  years  than  when  he  delivered  his 
charge.  Not  the  prisoner  himself  gave  greater  evi- 
dence of  the  effect  which  this  hour  of  waiting  had 


216  DARK  HOLLOW 

had  upon  a  heart  whose  covered  griefs  were,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  revealing  themselves  to 
the  public  eye.  He  did  not  wish  this  man  sentenced. 
This  was  shown  by  his  charge  —  the  most  one-sided 
one  he  had  given  in  all  his  career.  Yet  the  man 
awaiting  verdict  had  small  claim  to  his  consideration 
—  none,  in  fact,  save  that  he  was  young  and  well 
connected;  facts  in  his  favour  with  which  the  people 
who  packed  the  courthouse  that  day  had  little  sym- 
pathy, as  their  cold  looks  proved. 

To  Deborah,  who  had  succeeded  in  getting  a  seat 
in  a  remote  and  inconspicuous  corner,  these  looks 
conveyed  a  spirit  of  so  much  threat  that  she  gazed 
about  her  in  wonder  that  so  few  saw  where  the  real 
tragedy  in  this  room  lay. 

But  the  jury  is  now  seated,  and  the  clatter  of  mov- 
ing feet  which  but  a  moment  before  filled  the  great 
room,  sinks  as  if  under  a  charm,  and  silence,  that 
awesome  precursor  of  doom,  lay  in  all  its  weight 
upon  every  ear  and  heart,  as  the  clerk  advancing  with 
the  cry,  "  Order  in  the  court,"  put  his  momentous 
question : 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  are  you  ready  with  your 
verdict?" 

A  hush!  —  then,  the  clear  voice  of  the  foreman: 

"  We  are." 

"  How  do  you  find?     Guilty  or  not  guilty?  " 

Another  hesitation.  Did  the  foreman  feel  the 
threat  lurking  in  the  air  about  him?  If  so,  he  failed 
to  show  it  in  his  tones  as  he  uttered  the  words  which 
released  the  prisoner: 


IN  THE  COURT  ROOM  217 

"Not  guilty." 

A  growl  from  the  crowd,  almost  like  that  of  a 
beast  stirring  its  lair,  then  a  quick  cessation  of  all 
hubbub  as  every  one  turned  to  the  judge  to  whose 
one-sided  charge  they  attributed  this  release. 

Again  he  was  a  changed  man.  With  the  delivery 
of  this  verdict  he  had  regained  his  natural  poise,  and 
never  had  he  looked  more  authoritative  or  more 
pre-eminently  the  dominating  spirit  of  the  court  than 
in  the  few  following  moments  in  which  he  expressed 
the  thanks  of  the  court  to  the  jury  and  dismissed  the 
prisoner.  And  yet,  though  each  person  there,  from 
the  disappointed  prosecutor  to  the  least  aggressive 
spectator,  appeared  to  feel  the  influence  of  a  pres- 
ence and  voice  difficult  to  duplicate  on  the  bench  of 
this  country,  Deborah  experienced  in  her  quiet  cor- 
ner no  alleviation  of  the  fear  which  had  brought  her 
into  this  forbidding  spot  and  held  her  breathless 
through  all  these  formalities. 

For  the  end  was  not  yet.  Through  all  the  tur- 
moil of  noisy  departure  and  the  drifting  out  into 
the  square  of  a  vast,  dissatisfied  throng,  she  had 
caught  the  flash  of  a  bit  of  paper  (how  introduced 
into  this  moving  mass  of  people  no  one  ever  knew) 
passing  from  hand  to  hand,  towards  the  solitary  fig- 
ure of  the  judge  who  had  not  as  yet  left  his  seat. 

She  knew  —  no  one  better  —  what  this  meant,  and 
instinct  bade  her  cry  out  and  bid  those  thought- 
less hands  to  cease  their  work  and  let  this  letter  drop. 
But  her  discretion  still  held,  and,  subduing  the  mad 
impulse,  she  watched  with  dilating  eyes  and  heaving 


218  DARK  HOLLOW, 

breast  the  slow  passage  of  this  fatal  note  through 
the  now  rapidly  thinning  crowd,  its  delay  as  it 
reached  the  open  space  between  the  last  row  of  seats 
and  the  judge's  bench  and  its  final  delivery  by  some 
officious  hand,  who  thrust  it  upon  his  notice  just  as  he 
was  rising  to  leave. 

The  picture  he  made  in  that  instant  of  hesitation 
never  left  her  mind.  To  the  end  of  her  days  she 
will  carry  a  vision  of  his  tall  form,  imposing  in  his 
judicial  robes  and  with  the  majesty  of  his  office  still 
upon  him,  fingering  this  envelope  in  sight  of  such 
persons  as  still  lingered  in  his  part  of  the  room. 
Nemesis  was  lowering  its  black  wings  over  his 
devoted  head,  and,  with  feelings  which  left  her 
dazed  and  transfixed  in  silent  terror,  Deborah  saw 
his  finger  tear  its  way  through  the  envelope  and  his 
eyes  fall  frowningly  on  the  paper  he  drew  out. 

Then  the  People's  counsel  and  the  counsel  for  the 
Defence  and  such  clerks  and  hangers-on  as  still  lin- 
gered in  the  upper  end  of  the  room  experienced  a 
decided  sensation. 

The  judge,  who  a  moment  before  had  towered 
above  them  all  in  melancholy  but  impressive  dignity, 
shrunk  with  one  gasp  into  feebleness  and  sank  back 
stricken,  if  not  unconscious,  into  his  chair. 

Was  it  a  stroke,  or  just  one  of  his  attacks  of 
which  all  had  heard?  Was  he  aware  of  his  own 
condition  and  the  disturbance  it  caused  or  was  he, 
on  the  contrary,  dead  to  his  own  misery  and  oblivious 
of  the  rush  which  was  made  from  all  sides  to  his  as- 
sistance? Even  Deborah  could  not  tell,  and  was 


IN  THE  COURT  ROOM  219 

forced  to  sit  quiet  in  her  corner,  waiting  for  the 
parting  of  the  group  which  hid  the  judge  from  her 
sight. 

It  happened  suddenly  and  showed  her  the  same 
figure  she  had  seen  once  before  —  a  man  with  facul- 
ties suspended,  but  not  impaired,  facing  them  all 
with  open  gaze  but  absolutely  dead  for  the  moment 
to  his  own  condition  and  to  the  world  about. 

But,  horrible  as  this  was,  what  she  saw  going  on 
behind  him  was  infinitely  worse.  A  man  had  caught 
up  the  bit  of  paper  Judge  Ostrander  had  let  fall 
from  his  hand  and  was  opening  his  lips  to  read  it  to 
the  curious  people  surrounding  him. 

She  tried  to  stop  him.  She  forced  a  cry  to  her 
lips  which  should  have  rung  through  the  room,  but 
which  died  away  on  the  air  unheard.  The  terror 
which  had  paralysed  her  limbs  had  choked  her  voice. 

But  her  ears  remained  true.  Low  as  he  spoke, 
no  trumpet-call  could  have  made  its  meaning  clearer 
to  Deborah  Scoville  than  did  these  words: 

"  We  know  why  you  favour  criminals.  Twelve 
years  is  a  long  time,  but  not  long  enough  to  make 
wise  men  forget" 


XXII 

BEFORE   THE    GATES 

HAD  she  not  caught  the  words  themselves  she  would 
have  recognised  their  import  from  the  blighting  ef- 
fect they  produced  upon  the  persons  grouped  within 
hearing. 

Schooled  as  most  of  them  were  to  face  with  minds 
secure  and  tempers  quite  unruffled  the  countless  sur- 
prises of  a  court  room,  they  paled  at  the  insinuation 
conveyed  in  these  two  sentences,  and  with  scarcely 
the  interchange  of  glance  or  word,  drew  aside  in  a 
silence  which  no  man  seemed  inclined  to  break. 

As  for  the  people  still  huddled  in  the  doorway, 
they  rushed  away  helter-skelter  into  the  street,  there 
to  proclaim  the  judge's  condition  and  its  probable 
cause ;  —  an  event  which  to  many  quite  eclipsed  in 
interest  the  more  ordinary  one  which  had  just  re- 
leased to  freedom  a  man  seemingly  doomed. 

Few  persons  were  now  left  in  the  great  room,  and 
Deborah,  embarrassed  to  find  that  she  was  the  only 
woman  present,  was  on  the  point  of  escaping  from 
her  corner  when  she  perceived  a  movement  take 
place  in  the  rigid  form  from  which  she  had  not  yet 
withdrawn  her  eyes,  and,  regarding  Judge  Ostran- 
der  more  attentively,  she  caught  the  gleam  of  his 
suspicious  eye  as  it  glanced  this  way  and  that  to  see 


BEFORE  THE  GATES  221 

if  his  lapse  of  consciousness  had  been  noticed  by 
those  about  him. 

Would  the  man  still  in  possession  of  the  paper 
whose  contents  had  brought  about  this  attack  un- 
derstand these  evidences  of  apprehension?  Yes; 
and  what  is  more,  he  seems  to  take  such  means  as 
offers  to  hide  from  the  judge  all  knowledge  of  the 
fact  that  any  other  eyes  than  his  own  have  read 
these  invidious  words.  With  unexpected  address, 
he  waits  for  the  judge  to  turn  his  head  aside  when 
with  a  quick  and  dextrous  movement  he  so  launches 
the  paper  from  his  hand  that  it  falls  softly  and  with- 
out flurry  within  an  inch  of  the  judicial  seat.  Then 
he  goes  back  to  his  papers. 

Thi&  suggestion,  at  once  so  marked  and  so  deli- 
cate, did  not  fail  of  its  effect  upon  those  about. 
Wherever  the  judge  looked  he  saw  abstracted  faces 
and  busy  hands,  and,  taking  heart  at  not  finding  him- 
self watched,  he  started  to  rise.  Then  memory 
came, —  blasting,  overwhelming  memory  of  the  let- 
ter he  had  been  reading;  and,  rousing  with  a  start, 
he  looked  down  at  his, hand,  then  at  the  floor  before 
him,  and,  seeing  the  letter  lying  there,  picked  it  up 
with  a  secret,  side-long  glance  to  right  and  left,  which 
sank  deep  into  the  heart  of  the  still  watchful  Debo- 
rah. 

If  those  about  him  saw,  they  made  no  motion. 
Not  an  eye  looked  round  and  not  a  head  turned  as 
he  straightened  himself  and  proceeded  to  leave  the 
room.  Only  Deborah  noted  how  his  steps  faltered 
and  how  little  he  was  to  be  trusted  to  find  his  way 


222  DARK  HOLLOW 

unguided  to  the  door.  It  lay  to  the  right  and  he 
was  going  left.  Now  he  stumbles  —  Isn't  there  any 
one  to  —  Yes,  she  is  not  the  sole  one  on  watch.  The 
same  man  who  had  read  aloud  the  note  and  then 
dropped  it  within  his  reach,  had  stepped  after  him, 
and  kindly,  if  artfully,  turned  him  towards  the 
proper  place  of  exit.  As  the  two  disappear,  Debo- 
rah wakes  from  her  trance,  and,  finding  herself  alone 
among  the  seats,  hurries  to  quit  her  corner  and  leave 
the  building. 

The  glare  —  the  noise  of  the  square,  as  she  dashes 
down  into  it  seems  for  the  moment  unendurable. 
The  pushing,  panting  mass  of  men  and  women  of 
which  she  has  now  become  a  part,  closes  about  her, 
and  for  the  moment  she  can  see  nothing  but  faces, — 
faces  with  working  mouths  and  blazing  eyes, —  a 
medley  of  antagonistic  expression,  all  directed 
against  herself;  —  or  so  she  felt  in  the  heat  of  her 
self-consciousness.  But  after  the  first  recoil  she 
knew  that  no  such  universal  recognition  could  be 
hers;  that  she  was  merely  a  new  and  inconsiderable 
atom  caught  in  a  wave  of  feeling  which  engulfed  all 
it  met;  that  this  mob  was  not  raised  from  the  stones 
to  overwhelm  her  but  him,  and  that  if  she  flew,  it 
should  be  to  his  aid,  and  not  to  save  herself.  But 
how  was  she  to  reach  him?  He  would  not  come 
out  by  the  main  entrance;  that  she  knew.  Where 
look  for  him,  then?  Suddenly  she  remembered;  and 
using  some  of  her  strength  of  which  she  had  good 
measure,  and  more  of  that  address  to  which  I  have 
already  alluded,  she  began  to  worm  herself  along 


BEFORE  THE  GATES  223 

through  this  astounding  collection  of  people  much 
too  large  already  for  the  ordinary  force  of  police 
to  handle,  to  that  corner  of  the  building  where  a 
small  door  opened  upon  a  rear  street.  She  remem- 
bered it  from  those  old  days  when  she  had  once  en- 
tered this  courthouse  as  a  witness. 

But  alas,  others  knew  it  also,  and  thick  as  the 
crowd  was  in  front,  it  was  even  thicker  here,  and 
far  more  tumultuous.  Word  had  gone  about  that 
the  father  of  Oliver  Ostrander  had  been  given  his 
lesson  at  last,  and  the  curiosity  of  the  populace  had 
risen  to  fever-heat  in  their  anxiety  to  see  how  the 
proud  Ostrander  would  bear  himself  in  his  precipi- 
tate downfall.  They  had  crowded  there  to  see  and 
they  would  see.  Were  he  to  shirk  the  ordeal! 
Were  he  to  wait  for  the  square  to  be  cleared  —  But 
they  knew  him  too  well  to  fear  this.  He  will  come 
—  nay,  he  is  coming  now  —  and  coming  alone! 
No  other  figure  looms  so  grandly  in  a  doorway,  nor 
is  there  any  other  face  in  Shelby  whose  pallor  could 
strike  so  coldly  to  the  heart,  or  rouse  such  conflicting 
emotions. 

He  was  evidently  not  prepared  to  see  his  path 
quite  so  heavily  marked  out  for  him  by  the  gaping 
throng;  but  after  one  look,  he  assumed  some  show 
of  his  old  commanding  presence  and  advanced 
bravely  down  the  steps,  awing  some  and  silencing 
all,  until  he  had  reached  his  carriage  step  and  the 
protection  of  the  officers  on  guard. 

Then  a  hoot  rose  from  some  far-off  quarter  of 
the  square,  and  he  turned  short  about  and  the  peo- 


224  DARK  HOLLOW 

pie  saw  his  face.  Despair  had  seized  it,  and  if  any 
one  there  desired  vengeance,  he  had  it.  The  knell 
of  active  life  had  been  rung  for  this  man.  He  would 
never  remount  the  courthouse  steps,  or  face  again  a 
respectful  jury. 

As  for  Deborah,  she  had  shrunk  out  of  sight  at 
his  approach,  but  as  soon  as  he  had  ridden  off,  she 
looked  eagerly  for  a  taxicab  to  carry  her  in  his  wake. 
She  could  not  let  him  ride  that  mile  alone.  She  was 
still  fearful  for  him,  though  the  mass  of  people 
about  her  was  rapidly  dissolving  away,  and  the 
streets  growing  clear. 

But  an  apprehension  still  greater,  because  more 
personal,  seized  her  when  she  found  herself  behind 
him  on  the  long  road.  Several  minutes  had  been 
lost  in  obtaining  a  taxicab  and  she  feared  that  she 
would  be  unable  to  overtake  him  before  he  reached 
his  own  gates.  This  would  be  to  subject  Reuther  to 
a  shock  which  the  poor  child  had  little  strength  to 
meet.  She  could  not  escape  the  truth  long.  Soon, 
very  soon  she  would  have  to  be  told  that  the  man 
who  stood  so  high  in  her  esteem  was  now  regarded 
as  a  common  criminal.  But  she  must  be  prepared 
for  the  awful  news.  She  must  be  within  reach  of 
her  mother's  arms  when  the  blow  fell  destroying  her 
past  as  well  as  her  future. 

Were  minutes  really  so  long  —  the  house  really 
so  far  away?  Deborah  gazes  eagerly  forward. 
There  is  very  little  traffic  in  the  streets  to-day  and 
the  road  ahead  looks  clear  —  too  clear,  she  cannot 
even  see  the  dust  raised  by  the  judge's  rapidly  disap- 


BEFORE  THE  GATES  225 

pearing  carriage.  Can  he  have  arrived  home  al- 
ready? No,  or  the  carriage  would  be  coming  back, 
and  not  a  vehicle  is  in  view. 

Her  anxiety  increases.  She  has  reached  the  road 
debouching  towards  the  bridge  —  has  crossed  it  — 
is  drawing  near  —  nearer  —  when,  what  is  this? 
Men  —  women  —  coming  from  the  right,  coming 
from  the  left,  running  out  of  houses,  flocking  from 
every  side  street,  filling  up  the  road !  A  lesser  mob 
than  that  from  which  she  had  just  escaped,  but  still, 
a  mob,  and  all  making  for  one  point  —  the  judge's 
house!  And  he?  She  can  see  his  carriage  now. 
Held  up  for  a  moment  by  the  crowd,  it  has  broken 
through,  and  is  rolling  quickly  towards  Ostrander 
Lane.  But  the  mob  is  following,  and  she  is  yet  far 
behind. 

Shouting  to  the  chauffeur  to  hasten,  the  insistent 
honk!  honk!  of  the  cab  adds  its  raucous  note  to  the 
turmoil.  They  have  dashed  through  one  group ;  — • 
they  are  dashing  through  another;  —  naught  can 
withstand  an  on-rushing  automobile.  She  catches 
glimpses  of  raised  arms  threatening  retaliation;  of 
eager,  stolid,  uncertain  and  furious  faces  —  and  her 
breath  held  back  during  that  one  instant  of  wild 
passage  rushes  pantingly  forth  again.  Ostrander 
Lane  is  within  sight.  If  only  they  can  reach  it !  — 
if  only  they  can  cross  it!  But  they  cannot  without 
sowing  death  in  their  track.  No  scattered  groups 
here,  the  mob  fills  the  corner.  It  is  packed  close  as 
a  wall.  Brought  up  against  it,  the  motor  necessarily 
comes  to  a  standstill. 


226  DARK  HOLLOW 

Balked?  No,  not  yet.  Opening  the  door,  Deb- 
orah leaps  to  the  ground  and  in  one  instant  finds 
herself  but  a  mote  in  this  seethe  of  humanity.  In 
vain  her  efforts,  she  cannot  move  arm  or  limb.  The 
gate  is  but  a  few  paces  off,  but  all  hope  of  reaching 
it  is  futile.  She  can  only  hold  herself  still  and  listen 
as  all  around  are  listening.  But  to  what?  To 
nothing.  It  is  expectation  which  holds  them  all 
silent.  She  will  have  to  wait  until  the  crowd  sways 
apart,  allowing  her  to  —  Ah,  there,  some  heads  are 
moving  now !  She  catches  one  glimpse  ahead  of 
her,  and  sees  —  What  does  she  see?  The  noble  but 
shrunk  figure  of  the  judge  drawn  up  before  his  gate. 
His  lips  are  moving,  but  no  sound  issues  from  them; 
and  while  those  about  are  waiting  for  his  words,  they 
peer,  with  an  insolence  barely  dashed  by  awe,  at  his 
white  head  and  his  high  fence  and  now  at  the  gate 
swerving  gently  inward  under  the  hand  of  some  one 
whose  figure  is  invisible. 

But  no  words  coming,  a  change  passes  like  a 
stroke  of  lightning  over  the  surging  mass.  Some 
one  shouts  out  Coward!  another,  Traitor!  and  the 
lifted  head  falls,  the  moving  lips  cease  from  their 
efforts  and  in  place  of  the  great  personality  which 
filled  their  eyes  a  moment  before,  they  see  a  man 
entrapped,  waking  to  the  horror  of  a  sudden  death 
in  life  for  which  no  visions  of  the  day,  no  dreams 
of  the  night,  had  been  able  to  prepare  him. 

It  was  a  sight  to  waken  pity  not  derision.  But 
these  people  had  gathered  here  in  a  bitter  mood 
and  their  rancour  had  but  scented  the  prey.  Calls 


BEFORE  THE  GATES  227 

of  "  Oliver  1  "  and  such  threats  as  "  You  saved  him  at 
a  poor  man's  expense,  but  we'll  have  him  yet,  we'll 
have  him  yet!  "  began  to  rise  about  him;  followed 
by  endless  repetitions  of  the  name  from  near  and 
far:  "Oliver!  Oliver!" 

Oliver!  His  own  lips  seemed  to  re-echo  the 
word.  Then  like  a  lion  baited  beyond  his  patience 
the  judge  lifted  his  head  and  faced  them  all  with  a 
fiery  intensity  which  for  the  moment  made  him  a 
terrible  figure  to  contemplate. 

"  Let  no  one  utter  that  name  to  me  here!  "  shot 
from  his  lips  in  tones  of  unspeakable  menace  and 
power.  "  Spare  me  that  name,  or  the  curse  of  my 
ruined  life  be  upon  you.  I  can  bear  no  more  to- 
day." 

Thrilled  by  his  aspect,  cowering  under  his  denun- 
ciation, emphasised  as  it  was  by  a  terrifying  gesture, 
the  people,  pressing  closest  about  him,  drew  back 
and  left  the  passage  open  to  the  gate.  He  took  it 
with  a  bound,  and  would  have  entered  but  that  from 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  where  his  voice  had  not 
reached,  the  cry  arose  again  of  "Oliver!  Oliver! 
The  sons  of  the  rich  go  free,  but  ours  have  to 
hang!" 

At  which  he  turned  his  head  about,  gave  them  one 
stare  and  fell  back  against  the  door.  It  yielded  and 
a  woman's  arms  received  him.  The  gentle  Reuther 
in  that  hour  of  dire  extremity,  showed  herself 
stronger  than  her  mother  who  had  fallen  in  a  faint 
amid  the  crowd. 


XXIII 

THE   MISFORTUNES    OF    MY    HOUSE 

To  one  who  swoons  but  seldom,  the  moment  of  re- 
turning consciousness  is  often  fraught  with  great 
pain  and  sometimes  with  unimaginable  horror.  It 
was  such  to  Deborah;  the  pain  and  horror  holding 
her  till  her  eyes,  accustomed  to  realities  again,  saw 
in  the  angel  face  which  floated  before  her  vision 
amid  a  swarm  of  demon  masks,  the  sweet  and  solic- 
itous countenance  of  Reuther. 

As  she  took  this  in,  she  took  in  other  facts  also: 
that  there  were  no  demons,  no  strangers  even  about 
her:  That  she  and  her  child  were  comparatively 
alone  in  their  own  little  parlour,  and  that  Reuther's 
sweet  face  wore  a  look  of  lofty  courage  which  re- 
minded her  of  something  she  could  not  at  the  mo- 
ment grasp,  but  which  was  so  beautiful.  At  that  in- 
stant her  full  memory  came,  and,  uttering  a  low 
cry,  she  started  up,  and  struggling  to  her  feet,  con- 
fronted her  child,  this  time  with  a  look  full  of 
agonised  inquiry. 

Reuther  seemed  to  understand  her;  for,  taking 
her  mother's  hand  in  hers,  she  softly  said : 

"  I  knew  you  were  not  seriously  ill,  only  fright- 
ened by  the  crowd  and  their  senseless  shoutings. 
Don't  think  of  it  any  more,  dear  mother.  The 
people  are  dispersing  now,  and  you  will  soon  be 
228 


THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  MY  HOUSE     229 

quite  restored  and  ready  to  smile  with  us  at  an  at- 
tack so  groundless  it  is  little  short  of  absurd." 

Astounded  at  such  tranquillity  where  she  had  ex- 
pected anguish  if  not  stark  unreason,  doubting  her 
eyes,  her  ears  —  for  this  was  no  longer  her  deli- 
cate, suffering  Reuther  to  be  shielded  from  all  un- 
happy knowledge,  but  a  woman  as  strong  if  not  as 
wise  to  the  situation  as  herself  —  she  scrutinised 
the  child  closely,  then  turned  her  gaze  slowly  about 
the  room,  and  started  in  painful  surprise,  as  she  per- 
ceived standing  in  the  space  behind  her  the  tall  fig- 
ure of  Judge  Ostrander. 

He!  and  she  must  face  him!  the  man  whom  she 
by  her  blind  and  untimely  efforts  to  regain  happi- 
ness for  Reuther,  had  brought  to  this  woful  pass! 
The  ordeal  was  too  bitter  for  her  broken  spirit  and, 
shrinking  aside,  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
like  one  who  stands  detected  in  a  guilty  act. 

"  Pardon,"  she  entreated,  forgetting  Reuther's 
presence  in  her  consciousness  of  the  misery  she  had 
brought  upon  her  benefactor.  "  I  never  meant  — 
I  never  dreamed — " 

"  Oh,  no  apologies !  "  Was  this  the  judge  speak- 
ing? The  tone  was  an  admonitory,  not  a  suffer- 
ing one.  It  was  not  even  that  of  a  man  humiliated 
or  distressed.  "  You  have  had  an  unfortunate  ex- 
perience, but  that  is  over  now  and  so  must  your 
distress  be."  Then,  as  in  her  astonishment  she 
dropped  her  hands  and  looked  up,  he  added  very 
quietly,  "  Your  daughter  has  been  much  disturbed 
about  you,  but  not  at  all  about  Oliver  or  his  good 


230  DARK  HOLLOW 

name.  She  knows  my  son  too  well,  and  so  do  you 
and  I,  to  be  long  affected  by  the  virulent  outcries  of 
a  mob  seeking  for  an  object  upon  which  to  expend 
their  spleen." 

Swaying  yet  in  body  and  mind,  quite  unable  in  the 
turmoil  of  her  spirits  to  reconcile  this  strong  and 
steady  man  with  the  crushed  and  despairing  figure 
she  had  so  lately  beheld  shrinking  under  the  insults 
of  the  crowd,  Deborah  was  glad  to  sit  silent  under 
this  open  rebuke  and  listen  to  Reuther's  ingenuous 
declarations,  though  she  knew  that  they  brought  no 
conviction  and  distilled  no  real  comfort  either  to  his 
mind  or  hers. 

"  Yes,  mother  darling,"  the  young  girl  was  saying. 
"  These  people  have  not  seen  Oliver  in  years,  but 
we  have,  and  nothing  they  can  say,  nothing  that 
any  one  can  say  but  himself  could  ever  shake  my 
belief  in  him  as  a  man  incapable  of  a  really  wicked 
act.  He  might  be  capable  of  striking  a  sudden 
blow  —  most  men  are  under  great  provocation  — 
but  to  conceal  such  a  fact, —  to  live  for  years  enjoy- 
ing the  respect  of  all  who  knew  him,  with  the  knowl- 
edge festering  in  his  heart  of  another  having  suf- 
fered for  his  crime  —  that,  that  would  be  impos- 
sible to  Oliver  Ostrander." 

Some  words  ring  in  the  heart  long  after  their 
echo  has  left  the  ear.  Impossible!  Deborah  stole 
a  look  at  the  judge.  But  he  was  gazing  at  Reuther, 
where  he  well  might  gaze,  if  his  sinking  heart 
craved  support  or  his  abashed  mind  sought  to  lose 


THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  MY  HOUSE     231 

itself  in  the  enthusiasm  of  this  pure  soul,  with  its 
loving,  uncalculating  instincts. 

"Am  I  not  right,  mother?  " 

Ah!  must  she  answer  that? 

"  Tell  the  judge  who  is  as  confident  of  Oliver  as 
I  am  myself  that  you  are  confident,  too.  That  you 
could  no  more  believe  him  capable  of  this  abom- 
inable act  than  you  could  believe  it  of  my  father." 

"  I  will  —  tell  —  the  judge,"  stammered  the  un- 
happy mother.     "  Judge,"  she  briefly  declared,  as 
she  rose  with  the  help  of  her  daughter's  arm,  "  my 
mind  agrees  with  yours  in  this  matter.     What  you  . 
think,  I  think."     And  that  was  all  she  could  say. 

As  she  fell  again  into  her  seat,  the  judge  turned 
to  Reuther: 

"  Leave  your  mother  for  a  little  while,"  he  urged 
with  that  rare  gentleness  he  always  showed  her. 
"  Let  her  rest  here  a  few  minutes  longer,  alone  with 
me." 

"  Yes,  Reuther,"  murmured  Deborah,  seeing  no 
way  of  avoiding  this  inevitable  interview.  "  I  am 
feeling  better  every  minute.  I  will  come  soon." 

The  young  girl's  eye  faltered  from  one  to  the 
other,  then  settled,  with  a  strange  and  imploring 
look  upon  her  mother.  Had  her  clear  intelligence 
pierced  at  last  to  the  core  of  that  mother's  misery? 
Had  she  seen  what  Deborah  would  have  spared  her 
at  the  cost  of  her  own  life?  It  would  seem  so,  for 
when  the  mother,  with  great  effort,  began  some 
conciliatory  speech,  the  young  girl  smiled  with  a 


232  DARK  HOLLOW 

certain  sad  patience,  and,  turning  towards  Judge 
Ostrander,  said  as  she  softly  withdrew: 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  allow  me  to  men- 
tion a  name  and  discuss  a  subject  you  have  expressly 
forbidden.  I  want  to  show  my  gratitude,  Judge 
Ostrander,  by  never  referring  to  it  again  without 
your  permission.  That  you  know  my  mind," — 
here  her  head  rose  with  a  sort  of  lofty  pride  which 
lent  a  dazzling  quality  to  her  usually  quiet  beauty, — 
"  and  that  I  know  yours,  is  quite  enough  for  me." 

"  A  noble  girl !  a  mate  for  the  best !  "  fell  from 
the  judge's  lips  after  a  silence  disturbed  only  by  the 
faint,  far-off  murmur  of  a  slowly  dispersing  throng. 

Deborah  made  no  answer.  She  could  not  yet 
trust  her  courage  or  her  voice. 

The  judge,  who  was  standing  near,  concentrated 
his  look  upon  her  features.  Still  she  made  no  ef- 
fort to  meet  his  eye.  He  did  not  speak,  and  the 
silence  grew  appalling.  To  break  it,  he  stepped 
away  and  took  a  glance  out  of  the  window.  There 
was  nothing  to  be  seen  there;  the  fence  hid  all,  but 
he  continued  to  look,  the  shadows  from  his  soul 
settling  deeper  and  deeper  upon  his  countenance  as 
each  heavy  moment  dragged  by.  When  he  finally 
turned,  it  was  with  a  powerful  effort  which  com- 
municated itself  to  her  and  forced  her  long-bowed 
head  to  rise  and  her  troubled  mind  to  disclose 
itself. 

"  You  wish  to  express  your  displeasure,  and  hesi- 
tate on  account  of  Reuther,"  she  faltered.  "  You 
need  not.  We  are  quite  prepared  to  leave  your 


THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  MY  HOUSE     233 

house  if  our  presence  reminds  you  too  much  of  the 
calamity  I  have  brought  upon  you  by  my  inconsid- 
erate revival  of  a  past  you  had  every  reason  to  be- 
lieve buried." 

His  reply  was  uttered  with  great  courtesy. 

"  Madam,"  said  he,  "  I  have  never  had  a  thought 
from  the  first  moment  of  your  coming,  of  any 
change  in  the  arrangements  we  then  entered  into; 
nor  is  the  demonstration  we  have  just  witnessed  a 
calamity  of  sufficient  importance  to  again  divide  this 
household.  To  connect  my  high-minded  son  with 
a  crime  for  which  he  had  no  motive  and  from  which 
he  could  reap  no  benefit  is,  if  you  will  pardon  my 
plain  speaking  at  a  moment  so  critical,  even  greater 
folly  than  to  exculpate,  after  all  these  years,  the 
man  whom  a  conscientious  jury  found  guilty.  Only 
a  mob  could  so  indulge  itself;  individuals  will  not 
dare." 

She  thought  of  the  letter  which  had  been  passed 
up  to  him  in  court,  and  surveyed  him  with  an  aston- 
ishment she  made  no  effort  to  conceal.  Never  had 
she  felt  at  a  greater  disadvantage  with  him.  Never 
had  she  understood  him  less.  Was  this  attempt  at 
unconcern,  so  pitiably  transparent  to  her,  made  in 
an  endeavour  to  probe  her  mind  or  to  deceive  his 
own?  In  her  anxiety  to  determine,  she  hesitatingly 
remarked: 

"  Not  the  man  who  writes  those  anonymous  let- 
ters?" 

"Letters?"  Involuntarily  his  hand  flew  to  one 
of  his  inner  pockets. 


234  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  Yes,  you  have  found  them,  have  you  not,  lying 
about  the  grounds?  "  » 

"No."     He    looked    startled.     "Explain    your- 
self," said  he.     "What  letters?     Not  such  as  — 
Again  his  hand  went  to  his  pocket,  but  shrunk  hastily 
back  as  she  pulled  out  a  crumpled  bit  of  paper  and 
began  to  smooth  it  out  for  his  perusal. 

"  What  have  you  there?  "  he  cried. 

"  Such  a  letter  as  I  speak  of,  Judge  Ostrander. 
I  picked  it  up  from  the  walk  a  day  or  so  ago.  Per- 
haps you  have  come  upon  the  like?  " 

"No;  why  should  I?" 

He  had  started  back,  but  his  eye  falling  involun- 
tarily upon  the  words  she  had  spread  out  before 
him,  he  rapidly  read  them,  and  aghast  at  their  im- 
port, glanced  from  the  paper  to  her  face  and  back 
again,  crying: 

"  He  means  Oliver !  We  have  an  enemy,  Mrs. 
Scoville,  an  enemy!  Do  you  know" — here  he 
leaned  forward,  and  plunged  his  eye,  now  burning 
with  many  passions,  into  hers — "who  this  enemy 
is?" 

"  Yes."  Softly  as  the  word  came,  it  seemed  to 
infuriate  him.  Seizing  her  by  the  arm,  he  was 
about  to  launch  against  her  the  whole  weight  of  his 
aroused  nature,  when  she  said  simply:  "He  is  a 
common  bill-poster.  I  took  pains  to  find  this  out. 
I  was  as  interested  as  you  could  be  to  discover  the 
author  of  such  an  outrage." 

"A  bill-poster?" 

"  Yes,  Judge  Ostrander." 


THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  MY  HOUSE     235 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  only  know  that  he  is  resolved 
upon  making  you  trouble.  It  was  he  who  incited 
this  riot.  He  did  it  by  circulating  anonymous  mis- 
sives and  by  —  forgive  me  for  telling  you  this  — 
affixing  scrawls  of  the  same  ambiguous  character  on 
fences  and  on  walls,  and  even  on  —  on — "  (Here 
terror  tied  her  tongue,  for  his  hand  had  closed  about 
her  arm  in  a  forceful  grip,  and  the  fire  in  the  eye 
holding  hers  was  a  consuming  one)  "  the  rails  —  of 
—  of  bridges." 

"Ah!" 

The  cry  was  involuntary,  but  not  so  the  steady  set- 
tling of  the  lips  which  followed  it  and  the  deter- 
mined poise  of  his  body  as  he  waited  for  her  next 
word. 

"  Miss  Weeks,  the  little  lady  opposite,  saw  the 
latter  and  tore  it  off.  But  the  mischief  had  already 
spread.  Oh,  strike  me !  Send  me  from  your 
house!" 

He  gave  no  token  of  hearing  her. 

"Why  is  this  man  my  enemy?"  he  asked.  "I 
do  not  know  any  such  person  as  you  describe." 

"  Nor  I,"  she  answered  more  quietly. 

"  A  bill-poster !  Well,  he  has  done  his  worst. 
I  shall  think  no  more  about  him."  And  the  burn- 
ing eye  grew  mild  and  the  working  lip  calm  again, 
with  a  determination  too  devoid  of  sarcasm  to  be 
false. 

It  was  a  change  for  which  Deborah  was  in  no 
wise  prepared.  She  showed  her  amazement  as  in- 


236  DARK  HOLLOW 

genuously  as  a  child,  and  he,  observing  it,  remarked 
in  a  different  tone  from  any  he  had  used  yet : 

"  You  do  not  look  well.  You  are  still  suffering 
from  the  distress  and  confusion  into  which  this 
wretched  swoon  has  thrown  you.  Or  can  it  be  that 
you  are  not  yet  convinced  of  our  wisdom  in  ignoring 
this  diabolic  attack  upon  one  whose  reputation  is  as 
dear  to  us  as  our  own?  If  that  is  so,  and  I  see  that 
it  is,  let  me  remind  you  of  a  fact  which  cannot  be 
new  to  you  if  it  is  to  others  of  happier  memories, 
that  no  accusation  of  this  kind,  however  plausible  — 
and  this  is  not  plausible  —  can  hold  its  own  for  a 
day  without  evidence  to  back  it.  And  there  is  no 
evidence  against  my  son  in  this  ancient  matter  of 
my  friend  Etheridge's  violent  death,  save  the  one 
coincidence  known  to  many,  that  he  chanced  to  be 
somewhere  in  the  ravine  at  that  accursed  hour.  A 
petty  point  upon  which  to  hang  this  late  and  elab- 
orate insult  of  suspicion  1  "  And  his  voice  rang 
out  in  a  laugh,  but  not  as  it  would  have  rung,  or  as 
Deborah  thought  it  would  have  rung,  had  his  mind 
been  as  free  as  his  words. 

When  it  had  quite  ceased,  Deborah  threw  off  the 
last  remnant  of  physical  as  well  as  moral  weakness, 
and  deliberately  rose  to  her  feet.  She  believed  she 
understood  him  now;  and  she  respected  the  effort 
he  was  making,  and  would  have  seconded  it  gladly, 
had  she  dared. 

But  she  did  not  dare.  If  he  were  really  as  ig- 
norant as  he  appeared  of  the  extent  of  the  peril 
threatening  Oliver's  good  name;  if  he  had  cheated 


THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  MY  HOUSE     237 

himself  during  these  long  years  into  supposing  that 
the  secret  which,  had  undermined  his  own  happiness 
was  an  unshared  one,  and  that  his  own  conduct  since 
that  hour  he  had  characterised  as  accursed,  had 
given  no  point  to  the  charges  they  had  just  heard 
hurled  against  his  son,  then  he  ought  to  be  unde- 
ceived and  that  right  speedily.  Evidence  did  exist 
connecting  Oliver  with  this  crime;  evidence  as  sure, 
nay,  yet  surer,  than  that  raised  against  her  husband; 
and  no  man's  laughter,  no,  not  even  his  father's  — 
least  of  all  his  father's  —  could  cover  up  the  fact 
or  avail  against  the  revelations  which  must  follow, 
now  that  the  scent  was  on.  Honouring  as  she  did 
the  man  before  her,  understanding  both  his  misery 
and  the  courage  he  displayed  in  this  superhuman  ef- 
fort to  hide  his  own  convictions,  she  gathered  up  all 
her  resources,  and  with  a  resolution  no  less  brave 
than  his,  said  firmly: 

"  You  are  too  much  respected  in  this  town,  Judge 
Ostrander,  for  any  collection  of  people,  however 
thoughtless  or  vile,  to  so  follow  the  lead  of  a  low- 
down  miscreant  as  to  greet  you  to  your  face  with 
these  damaging  assertions,  unless  they  thought  they 
had  evidence,  and  good  evidence,  too,  with  which 
to  back  these  assertions." 

It  was  the  hurling  of  an  arrow  poisoned  at  the 
point;  the  launching  of  a  bomb  into  the  very  citadel 
of  his  security.  Had  he  burst  into  outbreak  — 
gripped  her  again  or  fiercely  shown  her  the  door, 
she  would  not  have  been  astonished.  Indeed,  she 
was  prepared  for  some  such  result,  but  it  did  not 


238  DARK  HOLLOW 

come.  On  the  contrary,  his  answer  was  almost 
mild,  though  tinged  for  the  first  time  with  a  touch 
of  that  biting  sarcasm  for  which  he  had  once  been 
famous. 

"  If  they  had  not  thought!  "  he  repeated.  "  If 
you  had  said  if  they  had  not  known,  then  I  might  in- 
deed have  smelt  danger.  People  think  strange 
things.  Perhaps  you  think  them,  too." 

"  I  ?  "  The  moment  was  critical.  She  saw  now 
that  he  was  sounding  her, —  had  been  sounding  her 
from  the  first.  Should  she  let  everything  go  and 
let  him  know  her  mind,  or  should  she  continue  to 
conceal  it?  In  either  course  lay  danger,  if  not  to 
herself  and  Reuther,  then  to  himself  and  Oliver. 
She  decided  for  the  truth.  Subterfuge  had  had  its 
day.  The  menace  of  the  future  called  for  the 
strongest  weapons  which  lie  at  the  hand  of  man. 
She,  therefore,  answered: 

"  Yes ;  I  have  been  thinking,  and  this  is  the  re- 
sult: You  must  either  explain  publicly  and  quite 
satisfactorily  to  the  people  of  this  town,  the  mys- 
tery of  your  long  separation  from  Oliver  and  the 
life  you  have  since  led  in  this  trebly  barred  house, 
or  accept  the  opprobrium  of  such  accusations  as  we 
have  listened  to  to-day.  There  is  no  middle  course, 
Judge  Ostrander.  I  who  have  loved  Oliver  almost 
like  a  son ;  —  who  have  a  daughter  who  not  only 
loves  him  but  regards  him  as  a  perfect  model  of 
noble  manhood,  tell  you  so,  though  it  breaks  my 
heart  to  do  it.  I  cannot  see  you  both  fall  headlong 
to  destruction  for  lack  of  understanding  the  near- 


THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  MY  HOUSE     239 

ness  or  the  depth  of  the  precipice  you  are  approach- 
ing." 

"So!" 

The  ejaculation  came  after  a  moment  of  intense 
silence  —  a  silence  during  which,  she  seemed  to  dis- 
cern the  sturdiness  of  years  drop  slowly  away  from 
him. 

"  So  that  is  the  explanation  which  people  give  to 
my  desire  for  retirement  and  a  life  of  contemplation. 
Well,"  he  slowly  added,  with  the  halting  utterance 
of  one  to  whom  each  word  is  an  effort,  "  I  can  see 
some  justification  for  their  conclusions  now.  I  have 
been  too  self-centred,  and  too  short-sighted  to  rec- 
ognise my  own  folly.  I  might  have  known  that 
anything  out  of  the  common  course  rouses  a  curiosity 
which  supplies  its  own  explanation  at  any  cost  to 
propriety  or  respect.  I  have  courted  my  own  doom. 
I  am  the  victim  of  my  own  mistake.  But,"  he 
continued,  with  a  flash  of  his  old  fire  which  made  him 
a  dignified  figure  again,  "  I'm  not  going  to  cringe 
because  I  have  lost  ground  in  the  first  skirmish.  I 
come  of  fighting  blood.  Oliver's  reputation  shall 
not  suffer  lonjg,  whatever  I  may  have  done  in  my 
parental  confidence  to  endanger  it.  I  have  not  spent 
ten  years  at  the  bar,  and  fifteen  on  the  bench  for 
nothing.  Let  the  people  look  to  it!  I  will  stand 
by  my  own." 

He  had  as  completely  forgotten  her  as  if  she  had 
never  existed.  John  Scoville,  his  widow,  even  the 
child  bowed  under  troubles  not  unlike  his  own,  had 
faded  alike  from  his  consciousness.  But  the  gen- 


24o  DARK  HOLLOW 

erous  Deborah  felt  no  resentment  at  the  determina- 
tion which  would  only  press  her  and  hers  deeper 
into  contumely.  She  had  seen  the  father  in  the  man 
for  the  first  time,  and  her  whole  heart  went  out  in 
passionate  sympathy  which  blinded  her  to  every- 
thing but  her  present  duty.  Alas,  that  it  should  be 
so  hard  a  one!  Alas,  that  instead  of  encouraging 
him,  she  must  point  out  the  one  weakness  of  his 
cause  which  he  did  not  or  would  not  see,  that  is,  his 
own  conviction  of  his  absent  son's  guilt  as  typified 
by  the  line  he  had  deliberately  smeared  across  Oli- 
ver's pictured  countenance.  The  task  seemed  so 
difficult,  the  first  steps  so  blind,  that  she  did  not 
know  how  to  begin  and  stood  staring  at  him  with 
interest  and  dread  struggling  for  mastery  in  her 
heavily  labouring  breast. 

Did  he  perceive  this  or  was  it  the  silence  which 
drew  his  attention  to  her  condition  and  the  evils  still 
threatening  him?  Whichever  it  was,  the  light  van- 
ished from  his  face  as  he  surveyed  her  and  it  was 
with  a  return  of  his  old  manner,  that  he  finally  ob- 
served : 

"  You  are  keeping  something  from  me  —  some 
fancied  discovery  —  some  clew,  as  they  call  it,  to 
what  you  may  consider  my  dear  boy's  guilt." 

With  a  deep  breath  she  woke  from  her  trance  of 
indecision  and  letting  forth  the  full  passion  of  her 
nature,  she  cried  out  in  her  anguish : 

"  I  have  but  one  answer  for  that,  Judge  Ostran- 
der.  Look  into  your  own  heart  1  Question  your 


THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  MY  HOUSE     241 

own    conscience.     I    have    seen    what    reveals    it. 
j » 

She  stopped  appalled.  Rage,  such  as  she  had 
never  even  divined  spoke  from  every  feature.  He 
was  no  longer  the  wretched  but  calmly  reasoning 
man,  but  a  creature  hardly  human,  and  when  he 
spoke,  it  was  in  a  frenzy  which  swept  everything 
before  it. 

"  You  have  seen! "  he  shouted.  "  You  have 
broken  your  promise !  You  have  touched  what  you 
were  forbidden  to  touch!  You  have — " 

"  Not  so,"  she  broke  in  softly  but  very  firmly. 
"  I  have  touched  nothing  that  I  was  told  not  to,  nor 
have  I  broken  any  promise.  I  simply  saw  more 
than  I  was  expected  to,  I  suppose,  of  the  picture 
which  fell  the  day  you  first  allowed  me  to  enter  your 
study." 

"Is  that  true?" 

"  It  is  true." 

They  were  whispering  now. 

Drawing  a  deep  breath,  he  gathered  up  his  fac- 
ulties. "  Upon  such  accidents,"  he  muttered, 
"  hang  the  fate  and  honour  of  men.  And  you 
have  gossiped  about  this  picture,"  he  again  vocifer- 
ated with  sudden  and  unrestrained  violence,  "  told 
Reuther  —  told  others  — " 

"  No."  The  denial  was  peremptory, —  not  to  be 
disbelieved.  "  What  I  have  learned,  I  have  kept 
religiously  to  myself.  Alas  I  "  she  half  moaned, 
half  cried,  "  that  I  should  feel  the  necessity !  " 


242  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  Madam !  " —  he  was  searching  her  eyes,  search- 
ing her  very  soul,  as  men  seldom  search  the  mind 
of  another.  "  You  believe  in  the  truth  of  these 
calumnies  that  have  just  been  shouted  in  our  ears. 
You  believe  what  they  say  of  Oliver.  You  with 
every  prejudice  in  his  favour;  with  every  desire 
to  recognise  his  worth!  You,  who  have  shown 
yourself  ready  to  drop  your  husband's  cause  though 
you  consider  it  an  honest  one,  when  you  saw  what 
havoc  it  would  entail  to  my  boy's  repute.  You  be- 
lieve —  and  on  what  evidence?  "  he  broke  in.  "  Be- 
cause of  the  picture?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  the  coincidence  of  his  presence  in  the  ra- 
vine?" 

"  Yes." 

"  But  these  are  puerile  reasons."  He  was  speak- 
ing peremptorily  now  and  with  all  the  weight  of  a 
master  mind.  "  And  you  are  not  the  woman  to  be 
satisfied  with  anything  puerile.  There  is  something 
back  of  all  this ;  something  you  have  not  imparted. 
What  is  that  something?  Tell  —  tell  — " 

"  Oliver  was  a  mere  boy  in  those  days  and  a  very 
passionate  one.  He  hated  Etheridge  —  the  ob- 
trusive mentor  who  came  between  him  and  your- 
self." 

"Hated?" 

"  Yes." 

"Hatedt" 

"  Yes,  there  is  proof." 

"Of  his  hate?" 


THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  MY  HOUSE     243 

"  Yes,  judge." 

He  did  not  ask  where.  Possibly  he  knew.  And 
because  he  did  not  ask,  she  did  not  tell  him,  holding 
on  to  her  secret  in  a  vague  hope  that  so  much  at 
least  might  never  see  light. 

"  I  knew  the  boy  shrank  sometimes  from  Al- 
gernon's company,"  the  judge  admitted,  after  an- 
other glance  at  her  face;  "but  that  means  nothing 
in  a  boy  full  of  his  own  affairs.  What  else  have 
you  against  him  ?  Speak  up !  I  can  bear  it  all." 

"  He  handled  the  stick  that  —  that — " 

"Oliver?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Never!     Now  you  have  gone  mad,  madam." 

"  I  would  be  willing  to  end  my  days  in  an  asylum 
if  that  would  disprove  this  fact." 

"  But,  madam,  what  proof  —  what  reason  can 
you  have  for  an  assertion  so  monstrous?" 

"  You  remember  the  shadow  I  saw  which  was  not 
that  of  John  Scoville?  The  person  who  made  that 
shadow  was  whittling  a  stick;  that  was  a  trick  of 
Oliver's.  I  have  heard  that  he  even  whittled  furni- 
ture." 

"  Good  God !  "  The  judge's  panoply  was  pierced 
at  last. 

"  They  tried  to  prove,  as  you  will  remember,  that 
it  was  John  who  thus  disfigured  the  bludgeon  he  al- 
ways carried  with  pride.  But  the  argument  was  a 
sorry  one  and  in  itself  would  have  broken  down  the 
prosecution  had  he  been  a  man  of  better  repute. 
Now,  those  few  chips  taken  from  the  handle  of  this 


244  DARK  HOLLOW 

weapon  will  carry  a  different  significance.  For  in 
my  folly  I  asked  to  see  this  stick  which  still  exists 
at  Police  Headquarters,  and  there  in  the  wood  I 
detected  and  pointed  out  a  trifle  of  steel  which,  never 
came  from  the  unbroken  blades  of  the  knife  taken 
from  John's  pocket." 

Fallen  was  the  proud  head  now  and  fallen  the 
great  man's  aspect.  If  he  spoke  it  was  to  utter  a 
low  "Oliver!  Oliver!  " 

The  pathos  of  it  —  the  heart-rending  wonder  in 
th'e  tone  brought  the  tears  to  Deborah's  eyes  and 
made  her  last  words  very  difficult. 

"  But  the  one  great  thing  which  gives  to  these 
facts  their  really  dangerous  point  is  the  mystery  you 
have  made  of  your  life  and  of  this  so-called  hermit- 
age. If  you  can  clear  up  that,  you  can  afford  to 
ignore  the  rest." 

"The  misfortunes  of  my  house!"  was  his  sole 
response.  "The  misfortunes  of  my  house!" 


XXIV 

ONE   SECRET    LESS 

SUDDENLY  he  faced  Deborah  again.     The  crisis  of 
feeling  had  passed,  and  he  looked  almost  cold. 

"  You  have  had  advisers,"  said  he.  "  Who  are 
they?" 

"  I  have  talked  with  Mr.  Black." 

The  judge's  brows  met. 

"  Well,  you  were  wise,"  said  he.  Then  shortly, 
"What  is  his  attitude?" 

Feeling  that  her  position  was  fast  becoming  in- 
tolerable she  falteringly  replied,  "  Friendly  to  you 
and  Oliver  but,  even  without  all  the  reasons  which 
move  me,  sharing  my  convictrons." 

"  He  has  told  you  so?  " 

"Not  directly;  but  there  was  no  misjudging  his 
opinion  of  the  necessity  you  were  under  to  explain 
the  mysteries  of  your  life.  And  It  was  yesterday  we 
talked;  not  to-day." 

Like  words  thrown  into  a  void,  these  slow,  lin- 
gering, half-uttered  phrases  seemed  to  awaken  an 
echo  which  rung  not  only  in  his  inmost  being,  but  in 
hers.  Not  till  in  both  natures  silence  had  settled 
again  (the  silence  of  despair,  not  peace),  did  he 
speak.  When  he  did,  it  was  simply  to  breathe  her 
name. 

"Deborah?" 

245 


246  DARK  HOLLOW 

Startled,  for  it  had  always  before  been  Madam, 
she  looked  up  to  find  him  standing  very  near  her  and 
with  his  hand  held  out. 

"  I  am  going  through  deep  waters,"  said  he. 
"  Am  I  to  have  your  support?  " 

"  O,  Judge  Ostrander,  how  can  you  doubt  it?" 
she  cried,  dropping  her  hand  into  his,  and  her  eyes 
swimming  with  tears.  "  But  what  can  I  do?  If 
I  remain  here  I  will  be  questioned.  If  I  fly  —  but, 
possibly,  that  is  what  you  want;  —  for  me  to  go  — 
to  disappear  —  to  take  Reuther  and  sink  out  of  all 
men's  sight  forever.  If  this  is  your  wish,  I  am 
ready  to  do  it.  Gladly  will  we  be  gone  —  now  — 
at  once  —  this  very  night  if  you  say  so." 

His  disclaimer  was  peremptory. 

"  No;  not  that.  I  ask  no  such  sacrifice.  Neither 
would  it  avail.  There  is  but  one  thing  which  can  re- 
instate Oliver  and  myself  in  the  confidence  and  re- 
gard of  these  people.  Cannot  you  guess  it,  madam  ? 
I  mean  your  own  restored  conviction  that  the  sen- 
tence passed  upon  John  Scoville  was  a  just  one. 
Once  satisfied  of  this,  your  temperament  is  such  that 
you  would  be  our  advocate  whether  you  wished  it 
or  no.  Your  very  silence  would  be  eloquent." 

"  Convince  me;  I  am  willing  to  have  you,  Judge 
Ostrander.  But  how  can  you  do  so?  A  shadow 
stands  between  my  wishes  and  the  belief  you  men- 
tion. The  shadow  cast  by  Oliver  as  he  made  his 
way  towards  the  bridge,  with  my  husband's  bludgeon 
in  his  hand." 

"  Did  you  see  him  strike  the  blow?     Were  there 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  247 

any  opportune  shadows  to  betray  what  happened 
between  the  instant  of  —  let  us  say  Oliver's  ap- 
proach and  the  fall  of  my  friend?  Much  can  hap- 
pen in  a  minute,  and  this  matter  is  one  of  minutes. 
Granted  that  the  shadow  you  saw  was  that  of  Oli- 
ver, and  the  stick  he  carried  was  the  one  under 
which  Algernon  succumbed,  what  is  to  hinder  the 
following  from  having  occurred.  The  stick  which 
Oliver  may  have  caught  up  in  an  absent  frame  of 
mind  becomes  burdensome;  he  has  broken  his  knife 
against  a  knot  in  the  handle  and  he  is  provoked. 
Flinging  the  bludgeon  down,  he  hurries  up  the  em- 
bankment and  so  on  into  town.  John  Scoville,  lurk- 
ing in  the  bushes,  sees  his  stick  fall  and  regains  it  at 
or  near  the  time  Algernon  Etheridge  steps  into  sight 
at  the  end  of  the  bridge  beyond  Dark  Hollow. 
Etheridge  carries  a  watch  greatly  desired  by  the  man 
who  finds  himself  thus  armed.  The  place  is  quiet; 
the  impulse  to  possess  himself  of  this  watch  is  sud- 
den and  irresistible,  and  the  stick  falls  on  Ether- 
idge's  head.  Is  there  anything  impossible  or  even 
improbable  about  all  this?  Scoville  had  a  heart 
open  to  crime,  Oliver  not.  This  I  knew  when  I  sat 
upon  the  bench  at  his  trial;  and  now  you  shall 
know  it  too.  Come!  I  have  something  to  show 
you." 

He  turned  towards  the  door  and  mechanically 
she  followed.  Her  thoughts  were  all  in  a  whirl. 
She  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  him  or  of  her- 
self. The  rooted  dread  of  weeks  was  stirring  in 
its  soil.  This  suggestion  of  the  transference  of  the 


248  DARK  HOLLOW 

stick  from  hand  to  hand  was  not  impossible.  Only 
Scoville  had  sworn  to  her,  and  that,  too,  upon  their 
child's  head,  that  he  had  not  struck  this  blow.  And 
she  had  believed  him  after  finding  the  cap;  and  she 
believed  him  now.  Yes,  against  her  will,  she  be- 
lieved him  now.  Why?  and  again,  why? 

They  had  crossed  the  hall  and  he  was  taking  the 
turn  to  his  room. 

"  Enter,"  said  he,  lifting  the  curtain. 

Involuntarily  she  recoiled.  Not  from  him,  but 
from  the  revelation  she  felt  to  be  awaiting  her  in 
this  place  of  unguessed  mystery.  Looking  back  into 
the  space  behind  her,  she  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of 
Reuther  hovering  on  a  distant  threshold.  Leaving 
the  judge,  without  even  a  murmured  word  of  apol- 
ogy, she  ran  to  the  child,  embraced  her,  and  prom- 
ised to  join  her  soon;  and  then,  satisfied  with  the 
comfort  thus  gained,  she  returned  quickly  to  where 
the  judge  still  awaited  her,  with  his  hand  on  the 
curtain. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  she;  and  meeting  with  no 
reply,  stood  trembling  while  he  unlocked  the  door 
and  ushered  her  in. 

A  new  leaf  in  the  history  of  this  old  crime  was 
about  to  be  turned. 

Once  within  the  room,  he  became  his  courteous 
self  once  more.  "  Be  seated,"  he  begged,  indicating 
a  chair  in  the  half  gloom.  As  she  took  it,  the  room 
sprang  into  sudden  light.  He  had  pulled  the  string 
which  regulated  the  curtains  over  the  glazed  panes 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  249 

in  the  ceiling.  Then  as  quickly  all  was  gloom  again ; 
he  had  let  the  string  escape  from  his  hand. 

"  Half  light  is  better,"  he  muttered  in  vague 
apology. 

It  was  a  weird  beginning  to  an  interview  whose 
object  was  as  yet  incomprehensible  to  her.  One 
minute  a  blinding  glimpse  of  the  room  whose  de- 
tails were  so  varied  that  many  of  them  still  remained 
unknown  to  her, —  the  next,  everything  swept  again 
into  shadow  through  which  the  tall  form  of  the 
genius  of  the  place  loomed  with  melancholy  sug- 
gestion ! 

She  was  relieved  when  he  spoke. 

"  Mrs.  Scoville  (not  Deborah  now)  have  you  any 
confidence  in  Oliver's  word?  " 

She  did  not  reply  at  once.  Too  much  depended 
upon  a  simple  yes  or  no.  Her  first  instinctive  cry 
would  have  been  yes,  but  if  Oliver  had  been  guilty 
and  yet  held  back  his  dreadful  secret  all  these  years, 
how  could  she  believe  his  word,  when  his  whole  life 
had  been  a  lie? 

"  Has  there  ever  been  anything  in  his  conversa- 
tion as  you  knew  it  in  Detroit  to  make  you  hesitate  to 
reply?  "  the  judge  persisted,  as  she  continued  speech- 
less. 

"  No ;  nothing.  I  had  every  confidence  in  his 
assertions.  I  should  have  yet,  if  it  were  not  for  this 
horror." 

"  Forget  it  for  a  moment.  Recall  his  effect  upon 
you  as  a  man,  a  prospective  son-in-law, —  for  you 
meant  him  to  marry  Reuther." 


250  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  I  trusted  him.  I  would  trust  him  in  many  ways 
yet." 

"  Would  you  trust  him  enough  to  believe  that  he 
would  tell  you  the  truth  if  you  asked  him  point- 
blank  whether  his  hands  were  clean  of  crime?  " 

"  Yes."  The  word  came  in  a  whisper;  but  there 
was  no  wavering  in  it.  She  had  felt  the  conviction 
dart  like  an  arrow  through  her  mind  that  Oliver 
might  slay  a  man  in  his  hate, —  might  even  conceal 
his  guilt  for  years  —  but  that  he  could  not  lie  about 
it  when  brought  face  to  face  with  an  accuser  like  her- 
self. 

"  Then  I  will  let  you  read  something  he  wrote  at 
my  request  these  many  years  ago:  An  experience 
—  the  tale  of  one  awful  night,  the  horrors  of 
which,  locked  within  his  mind  and  mine,  have  never 
been  revealed  to  a  third  person.  That  you  should 
share  our  secret  now,  is  not  only  necessary  but  fit- 
ting. It  becomes  the  widow  of  John  Scoville  to 
know  what  sort  of  a  man  she  persists  in  regarding 
innocent.  Wait  here  for  me." 

With  a  quick  step  he  wound  his  way  among  the 
various  encumbering  pieces  of  furniture,  to  the  door 
opening  into  his  bedroom.  A  breathless  moment  en- 
sued, during  which  she  heard  his  key  turn  in  the 
lock,  followed  by  the  repeating  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps, as  he  wended  his  way  inside  to  a  point  she 
could  only  guess  at  from  her  knowledge  of  the 
room,  to  be  a  dresser  in  one  of  the  corners.  Here 
he  lingered  so  long  that,  without  any  conscious  voli- 
tion of  her  own, —  almost  in  spite  of  her  volition 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  251 

which  would  have  kept  her  where  she  was, —  she 
found  herself  on  her  feet,  then  moving  step  by  step, 
more  cautiously  than  he,  in  and  out  of  huddling 
chairs  and  cluttering  tables  till  she  came  to  a  stand- 
still before  the  reflection  (in  some  mirror,  no  doubt) 
of  the  judge's  tall  form,  bending  not  over  the 
dresser,  as  she  had  supposed,  but  before  a  cupboard 
in  the  wall  —  a  cupboard  she  had  never  seen,  in  a 
wall  she  had  never  seen,  but  now  recognised  for  the 
one  hitherto  concealed  by  the  great  carpet  rug.  He 
had  a  roll  of  paper  in  his  hand,  which  he  bundled  to- 
gether as  he  dropped  the  curtain  back  into  place 
and  then  stopped  to  smooth  it  out  over  the  floor  with 
the  precision  of  long  habit. 

All  this  she  saw  in  the  mirror  as  though  she  had 
been  at  his  back  in  the  other  room;  but  when  she 
beheld  him  turn,  then  panic  seized  her  and  she 
started  breathlessly  for  the  spot  where  he  had  left 
her,  glad  that  there  was  so  little  light,  and  praying 
that  he  might  be  deaf  to  her  steps,  which,  gently  as 
they  fell,  sounded  portentously  loud  in  her  own  ears. 

She  had  reached  her  chair,  but  she  -had  not  had 
time  to  reseat  herself  when  she  beheld  him  ap- 
proaching with  the  bundle  of  loose  sheets  clutched  in 
his  hand. 

"  I  want  you  to  sit  here  and  read,"  said  he,  laying 
the  manuscript  down  on  a  small  table  near  the  wall 
under  a  gas-jet  which  he  immediately  lighted.  "  I 
am  going  back  to  my  own  desk.  If  you  want  to 
speak,  you  may;  I  shall  not  be  working."  And  she 
heard  his  footsteps  retreating  again  in  and  out 


252  DARK  HOLLOW 

among  the  furniture  till  he  reached  his  own  chair 
and  sat  before  his  own  table. 

This  ended  all  sound  in  the  room  excepting  the 
beating  of  her  own  heart,  which  had  become  tumul- 
tuous. 

How  could  she  sit  there  and  read  words,  with  the 
blood  pounding  in  her  veins  and  her  eyes  half  blind 
with  terror  and  excitement?  It  was  only  the  neces- 
sity of  the  case  which  made  it  possible.  She  knew 
that  she  would  never  be  released  from  that  spot 
until  she  had  read  what  had  been  placed  before  her. 
Thank  God!  the  manuscript  was  legible.  Oliver's 
handwriting  possessed  the  clearness  of  print.  She 
had  begun  to  read  before  she  knew  it,  and  having 
begun,  she  never  paused  till  she  reached  the  end. 

I  was  fifteen.  It  was  my  birthday  and  I  had  my 
own  ideas  of  how  I  wanted  to  spend  it.  My  hobby 
was  modelling.  My  father  had  no  sympathy  with 
this  hobby.  To  him  it  was  a  waste  of  time  better 
spent  in  study  or  such  sports  as  would  fit  me  for 
study.  But  he  had  never  absolutely  forbidden  me 
to  exercise  my  talent  this  way,  and  when  on  the  day 
I  mention  I  had  a  few  hours  of  freedom,  I  decided 
to  begin  a  piece  of  work  of  which  I  had  long 
dreamed.  This  was  the  remodelling  in  clay  of  an 
exquisite  statue  which  had  greatly  aroused  my  ad- 
miration. 

This  statue  stood  in  a  forbidden  place.  It  was 
one  of  the  art  treasures  of  the  great  house  on  the 
bluff  commonly  called  Spencer's  Folly.  I  had  seen 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  253 

this  marble  once,  when  dining  there  with  father, 
and  was  so  impressed  by  its  beauty,  that  it  haunted 
me  night  and  day,  standing  out  white  and  wonder- 
ful in  my  imagination,  against  backgrounds  of  end- 
less variation.  To  copy  its  lovely  lines,  to  caress 
with  a  creative  hand  those  curves  of  beauty  instinct, 
as  I  then  felt,  with  soul,  became  my  one  overmas- 
tering desire, —  a  desire  which  soon  deepened  into 
purpose.  The  boy  of  fifteen  would  attempt  the 
impossible.  I  procured  my  clay  and  then  awaited 
my  opportunity.  It  came,  as  I  have  said,  on  my 
birthday. 

There  was  no  one  living  in  the  house  at  this  time. 
Mr.  Spencer  had  gone  West  for  the  winter.  The 
servants  had  been  dismissed,  and  the  place  closed. 
Only  that  morning  I  had  heard  one  of  his  boon 
companions  say,  "  Oh,  Jack's  done  for.  He's  found 
a  pretty  widow  in  the  Sierras,  and  there's  no  know- 
ing now  when  we'll  drink  his  health  again  in  Spen- 
cer's Folly:"  a  statement  which  wakened  but  one 
picture  in  my  mind  and  that  was  a  long  stretch  of 
empty  rooms  teeming  with  art  treasures  amid  which 
one  gem  rose  supreme  —  the  gem  which  through 
his  reckless  carelessness,  I  now  proposed  to  make 
my  own,  if  loving  fingers  and  the  responsive  clay 
would  allow  it. 

What  to  every  other  person  in  town  would  have 
seemed  an  insuperable  obstacle  to  this  undertaking, 
was  no  obstacle  to  me.  /  knew  how  to  get  in.  One 
day  in  my  restless  wanderings  about  a  place  which 
had  something  of  the  nature  of  a  shrine  to  me,  I  had 


254  DARK  HOLLOW 

noticed  that  one  of  the  windows  (a  swinging  one) 
overlooking  the  ravine,  moved  as  the  wind  took 
it.  Either  the  lock  had  given  way  or  it  had  not 
been  properly  fastened.  If  I  could  only  bring  my- 
self to  disregard  the  narrowness  of  the  ledge  sep- 
arating the  house  from  the  precipice  beneath,  I  felt 
that  I  could  reach  this  window  and  sever  the  vines 
sufficiently  for  my  body  to  press  in;  and  this  I  did 
that  night,  finding,  just  as  I  had  expected,  that  once 
a  little  force  was  brought  to  bear  upon  the  sash,  it 
yielded  easily,  offering  a  free  passage  to  the  delights 
within. 

In  all  this  I  experienced  little  fear,  but  once  in- 
side, I  began  to  realise  the  hazard  of  my  adventure, 
as  hanging  at  full  length  from  the  casement,  I  medi- 
tated on  the  drop  I  must  take  into  what  to  my  dazed 
eyes  looked  like  an  absolute  void.  This  taxed  my 
courage;  but  after  a  moment  of  sheer  fright,  I  let 
myself  go  —  I  had  to  — •  and  immediately  found 
myself  standing  upright  in  a  space  so  narrow  I  could 
touch  the  walls  on  either  side.  It  was  a  closet  I  had 
entered,  opening,  as  I  soon  discovered,  into  the  huge 
dining-hall  where  I  had  once  sat  beside  my  father 
at  the  one  formal  meal  of  my  life. 

I  remembered  that  room;  it  had  made  a  great  im- 
pression upon  me,  and  some  light  finding  its  way 
through  the  panes  of  uncurtained  glass  which  topped 
each  of  the  three  windows  overlooking  the  ravine, 
I  soon  was  able  to  find  the  door  leading  into  the 
drawing-room. 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  255 

I  had  brought  a  small  lantern  in  the  bag  slung  to 
my  shoulders,  but  I  had  not  hitherto  dared  to  use  it 
on  account  of  the  transparency  of  the  panes  I  have 
mentioned;  but  once  in  the  perfectly  dark  recesses 
of  the  room  beyond,  I  drew  it  out,  and  without  the 
least  fear  of  detection  boldly  turned  it  upon  the 
small  alcove  where  stood  the  object  of  my  adora- 
tion. 

It  was  another  instance  of  the  reckless  confidence 
of  youth.  I  was  on  the  verge  of  one  of  the  most 
appalling  adventures  which  could  befall  a  man,  and 
yet  no  premonition  disturbed  the  ecstasy  with  which 
I  knelt  before  the  glimmering  marble  and  unrolled 
my  bundle  of  wet  clay. 

I  was  not  a  complete  fool.  I  only  meant  to  at- 
tempt a  miniature  copy,  but  my  presumption  led  me 
to  expect  it  to  be  like  —  yes,  like  —  oh,  I  never 
doubted  it! 

But  when,  after  a  few  minutes  of  rapturous  con- 
templation of  the  proportions  which  have  been  the 
despair  of  all  lesser  adepts  than  the  great  sculptor 
who  conceived  them,  I  began  my  work,  oh,  then  I 
began  to  realise  a  little  the  nature  of  the  task  I  had 
undertaken  and  to  ask  myself  whether  if  I  stayed 
all  night  I  could  finish  it  to  my  mind.  It  was  dur- 
ing one  of  these  moments  of  hesitation  that  I  heard 
the  first  growl  of  distant  thunder.  But  it  made  lit- 
tle impression  upon  me,  and  I  returned  to  my  work 
with  renewed  glow, —  renewed  hope.  I  felt  so  se- 
cure in  my  shell  of  darkness,  with  only  the  one  small 


256  DARK  HOLLOW 

beam  lighting  up  my  model  and  my  own  fingers  busy 
with  the  yielding  clay. 

But  the  thunder  growled  again  and  my  head  rose, 
this  time  in  real  alarm.  Not  because  of  that  far- 
off  struggle  of  the  elements  with  which  I  had  noth- 
ing to  do  and  hardly  sensed,  but  because  of  a  nearer 
sound,  an  indistinguishable  yet  strangely  perturbing 
sound,  suggesting  a  step  —  no,  it  was  a  voice,  or 
if  not  a  voice,  some  equally  sure  token  of  an  ap- 
proaching presence  on  the  porch  in  front.  Some 
one  going  by  on  the  road  two  hundred  feet  away 
must  have  caught  the  gleam  of  my  lantern  through 
some  unperceived  crack  in  the  parlour  shutters.  In 
another  minute  I  should  hear  a  shout  at  the  window, 
or,  perhaps,  the  pounding  of  a  heavy  hand  on  the 
front  door.  I  hated  the  interruption,  but  other- 
wise I  was  but  little  disturbed.  Whoever  it  was, 
he  could  not  by  any  chance  find  his  way  in.  Never- 
theless, I  discreetly  closed  the  shutter  of  my  lantern 
and  began  groping  my  way  back  to  my  own  place  of 
exit.  I  had  reached  the  dining-room  door,  when 
the  blood  suddenly  stopped  in  my  veins.  Another 
sound  had  reached  my  ear;  an  unmistakable  one  this 
time  —  the  rattling  of  a  key  in  its  lock.  A  man  — 
two  men-  were  entering  by  the  great  front  door. 
They  came  in  on  a  swoop  of  wind  which  seemed  to 
carry  everything  before  it.  I  heard  a  loud  laugh, 
coarsened  by  drink,  and  the  tipsy  exclamation  of  a 
voice  I  knew: 

"  There !  shut  the  door,  can't  you,  before  it's 
blown  from  its  hinges?  You'll  find  everything 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  257 

jolly  here.  Wine,  lights,  solitude  in  which  to  finish 
our  game  and  a  roaring  good  opportunity  to  sleep 
afterwards.  No  servants,  no  porters,  not  a  soul  to 
disturb  us.  This  is  my  house  and  it's  a  corker.  I 
might  be  away  for  a  year  and  " —  here  there  was 
the  crackling  of  a  match  — "  I've  only  to  use  my 
night-key  to  find  everything  a  man  wants  right  to 
my  hand." 

The  answer  I  failed  to  catch.  I  was  simply  par- 
alysed by  terror.  Should  their  way  lay  through  the 
drawing-room!  My  clay,  my  tools  were  all  lying 
there,  and  my  unfinished  model.  Mr.  Spencer  was 
not  an  unkind  man,  but  he  was  very  drunk,  and  I 
had  heard  that  whisky  makes  a  brute  of  the  most 
good-natured.  He  would  trample  on  my  work; 
perhaps  he  would  destroy  my  tools  and  then  hunt 
the  house  till  he  found  me.  I  did  not  know  what 
to  expect;  meantime,  lights  began  to  flame  up;  the 
room  where  I  stood  was  no  longer  a  safe  refuge, 
and  creeping  like  a  cat,  I  began  to  move  towards 
the  closet  door.  Suddenly  I  made  a  dart  for  it; 
the  two  men,  trampling  heavily  on  the  marble  floor 
of  the  hall  were  coming  my  way.  I  could  hear  their 
rude  talk  —  rude  to  me,  though  one  of  them  called 
himself  a  gentleman.  As  the  door  of  the  room 
opened  to  admit  them,  I  succeeded  in  shutting  that 
of  the  closet  into  which  I  had  flung  myself, —  or 
almost  so.  I  did  not  dare  to  latch  it,  for  they  were 
already  in  the  room  and  might  hear  me. 

"  This  is  the  spot  for  us,"  came  in  Spencer's  most 
jovial  tones.  "  Big  table,  whisky  handy,  cards 


258  DARK  HOLLOW 

right  here  in  my  pocket.    Wait,  till  I  strike  a  light !  " 

But  the  lightning  anticipated  him.  As  he  spoke, 
the  walls  which  surrounded  me,  the  walls  which 
surrounded  them,  leapt  into  glaring  view  and  I  heard 
the  second  voice  cry  out: 

"I  don't  like  that!  Let's  wait  till  the  storm  is 
over.  I  can't  play  with  such  candles  as  those  flaring 
about  us." 

"  Damn  it  I  you  won't  know  what  candles  you  are 
playing  by  when  once  you  see  the  pile  I've  got  ready 
for  you.  I'm  in  for  a  big  bout.  You  have  ten  dol- 
lars and  I  have  a  thousand.  I'll  play  you  for  that 
ten.  If,  in  the  meantime,  you  get  my  thousand, 
why,  it'll  be  because  you're  the  better  man." 

"  I  don't  like  it,  I  say.     There,  see!  " 

A  flood  of  white  light  had  engulfed  the  house. 
My  closet,  with  its  whitewashed  walls  flared  about 
me  like  the  mouth  of  a  furnace. 

"See,  yourself!'"  came  the  careless  retort,  and 
with  the  words  a  gas-jet  shot  up,  then  two,  then 
all  that  the  room  contained.  "How's  that? 
What's  a  flash  more  or  less  now!  " 

I  heard  no  answer,  only  the  slap  of  the  cards  as 
they  were  flung  onto  the  table ;  then  the  clatter  of  a 
key  as  it  was  turned  in  some  distant  lock  and  the 
quick  question: 

"  Rum,  or  whisky.     Irish  or  Scotch?  " 

"Whisky  and  Irish." 

"  Good!  but  you'll  drink  it  alone." 

The  bottles  were  brought  forward  and  they  sat 
down  one  on  each  side  of  the  dusty  mahogany  table. 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  259 

The  man  facing  me  was  Spencer,  the  other  sat  with 
his  back  my  way,  but  I  could  now  and  then  catch  a 
glimpse  of  his  profile  as  he  started  at  some  flash  or 
lifted  his  head  in  terror  of  the  thunder-claps. 

"  We'll  play  till  the  hands  point  to  three,"  an- 
nounced Spencer,  taking  out  his  watch  and  laying  it 
down  where  both  could  see  it.  "  Do  you  agree  to 
that?  —  Unless  I  win  and  your  funds  go  a-begging 
before  the  hour." 

"  I  agree."  The  tone  was  harsh;  it  was  almost 
smothered.  The  man  was  staring  at  the  watch.; 
there  was  a  strange  set  look  to  his  figure;  a  paus- 
ing as  of  thought  —  of  sinister  thought,  I  should 
now  say;  then  I  never  stopped  to  characterise  it;  it 
was  followed  too  quickly  by  a  loud  laugh  and  a  sud- 
den grab  at  the  cards. 

"  You'll  win !  I  feel  it  in  my  bones,"  came  in 
encouraging  tones  from  the  rich  man.  "  If  you 
do  " —  here  the  storm  lulled  and  his  voice  sank  to 
an  encouraging  whisper  — "  you  can  buy  the  old  tav- 
ern up  the  road.  It's  going  for  a  song;  and  then 
we'll  be  neighbours  and  can  play  —  play  — " 

Thunder!  —  a  terrific  peal.  It  shook  the  house; 
it  shook  my  boyish  heart,  but  it  no  longer  had  power 
to  move  the  two  gamesters.  The  fever  of  play  had 
reached  its  height,  and  I  heard  nothing  more  from 
their  lips,  but  such  phrases  as  belong  to  the  game. 

Why  didn't  I  take  advantage  of  their  absorption 
to  fly?  The  sill  above  my  head  was  within  easy 
reach,  the  sash  was  open  and  no  sound  that  I  could 
make  would  reach  them  in  this  hurly-burly  of  storm. 


260  DARK  HOLLOW 

Why  then,  with  all  this  invitation  to  escape,  did  I 
remain  crouched  in  my  dark  retreat  with  eyes  fixed 
on  the  narrow  crack  before  me  which,  under  some 
impulse  of  movement  in  the  walls  about,  had  wid- 
ened sufficiently  for  me  to  see  all  that  I  have  re- 
lated? I  do  not  know,  unless  I  was  hypnotised  by 
the  glare  of  expression  on  those  men's  faces. 

I  remember  that  it  was  my  first  glimpse  of  the  hu- 
man countenance  under  the  sway  of  wicked  and  ab- 
sorbing passions.  Hitherto  my  dreams  had  all  been 
of  beauty  —  of  lovely  shapes  or  noble  figures  cast 
in  heroic  mould.  Henceforth,  these  ideal  groups 
must  visit  my  imagination  mixed  with  the  bulging 
eyes  of  greed  and  the  contortions  of  hate  masking 
their  hideousness  under  false  smiles  or  hiding  them 
behind  the  motions  of  riotous  jollity.  I  was  horri- 
fied, I  was  sickened,  and  I  was  frightened  to  the 
very  soul,  but  the  fascination  of  the  spectacle  held 
me;  I  watched  the  men  and  I  watched  the  play  and 
soon  I  forgot  the  tempest  also,  or  remembered  it 
only  when  my  small  retreat  flared  into  sudden  white- 
ness, or  some  gust,  heavier  than  the  rest,  toppled 
the  bricks  from  the  chimneys  above  us  and  sent  them 
crashing  down  upon  the  rain-soaked  roof. 

The  stranger  was  winning.  I  saw  the  heap  of 
bills  beside  him  grow  and  grow  while  that  of  his 
opponent  dwindled.  I  saw  the  latter  smile  —  smile 
softly  at  each  toss  of  his  losings  across  the  board; 
but  there  was  no  mirth  in  his  smile,  nor  was  there 
any  common  satisfaction  in  the  way  the  other's  hand 
closed  over  his  gains. 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  261 

"  He  will  have  it  all,"  I  thought.  "  The  Clay- 
more Tavern  will  soon  change  owners;  "  and  I  was 
holding  my  breath  over  the  final  stake  when  sud- 
denly the  house  gave  a  lurch,  resettled,  then  lurched 
again.  The  tempest  had  become  a  hurricane,  and 
with  its  first  swoop  a  change  took  place  in  the 
stranger's  luck. 

The  bills  which  had  all  gone  one  way  began 
slowly  to  recross  the  board,  first  singly,  then  in  hand- 
fuls.  They  fell  within  Spencer's  grasp,  and  the 
smile  with  which  he  hailed  their  return  was  not  the 
smile  with  which  he  had  seen  them  go,  but  a  steady 
grin  such  as  I  had  beheld  on  the  faces  of  sculptured 
demons.  It  frightened  me,  this  smile.  I  could  see 
nothing  else;  but,  when  at  another  crashing  peal  I 
ducked  my  head,  I  found  on  lifting  it  that  my  eyes 
sought  instinctively  the  rigid  back  of  the  stranger 
instead  of  the  open  face  of  Spencer.  The  passion 
of  the  winner  was  nothing  to  that  of  the  loser;  and 
from  this  moment  on,  I  saw  but  the  one  figure,  and 
thrilled  to  the  one  hope  —  that  an  opportunity 
would  soon  come  for  me  to  see  the  face  of  the  man 
whose  back  told  such  a  tale  of  fury  and  suspense. 

But  it  remained  fixed  on  Spencer,  and  the  cards. 
The  roof  might  fall  —  he  was  past  heeding.  A  bill 
or  two  only  lay  now  at  his  elbow,  and  I  could  per- 
ceive the  further  stiffening  of  his  already  rigid  mus- 
cles as  he  dealt  out  the  cards.  Suddenly  hard  upon  a 
rattling  peal  which  seemed  to  unite  heaven  and  earth, 
I  heard  shouted  out: 

"  Half-past  two !     The  game  stops  at  three." 


262  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  Damn  your  greedy  eyes !  "  came  back  in  a  growl. 
Then  all  was  still,  fearfully  still,  both  in  the  at- 
mosphere outside  and  in  that  within,  during  which 
I  caught  sight  of  the  stranger's  hand  moving  slowly 
around  to  his  back  and  returning  as  slowly  forward, 
all  under  cover  of  the  table-top  and  a  stack  of  half- 
empty  bottles. 

I  was  inexperienced.  I  knew  nothing  of  the 
habits  or  the  ways  of  such  men  as  these,  but  the 
alarm  of  innocence  in  the  face  of  untold,  unsus- 
pected but  intuitively  felt  evil,  seized  me  at  this 
stealthy  movement,  and  I  tried  to  rise, —  tried  to 
shriek, —  but  could  not;  for  events  rushed  upon  us 
quicker  than  I  could  speak  or  move. 

"  I  can  buy  the  Claymore  Tavern,  can  I?  Well, 
I'm  going  to,"  rang  out  into  the  air  as  the  speaker 
leaped  to  his  feet.  "Take  that,  you  cheat!  And 
that !  And  that !  "  And  the  shots  rang  out  —  one, 
two,  three  1 

Spencer  was  dead  in  his  Folly.  I  had  seen  him 
rise,  throw  up  his  hands  and  then  fall  in  a  heap 
among  the  cards  and  glasses. 

Silence  1     Not  even  Heaven  spoke. 

Then  the  man  who  stood  there  alone  turned 
slightly  and  I  saw  his  face.  I  have  seen  it  many 
times  since;  I  have  seen  it  at  Claymore  Tavern. 
Distorted  up  to  this  moment  by  a  thousand  emotions, 
—  all  evil  ones, —  it  was  calm  now  with  the  realisa- 
tion of  his  act,  and  I  could  make  no  mistake  as  to 
his  identity.  Later  I  will  mention  his  name. 

Glancing  first  at  his  victim,  then  at  the  pistol  still 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  263 

smoking  in  his  hand,  he  put  the  weapon  back  in  his 
pocket,  and  began  gathering  up  the  money  for  which 
he  had  just  damned  his  soul.  To  get  it  all,  he  had 
to  move  an  arm  of  the  body  sprawling  along  the 
board.  But  he  did  not  appear  to  mind.  When 
every  bill  was  in  his  pockets,  he  reached  out  his 
hand  for  the  watch.  Then  I  saw  him  smile.  He 
smiled  as  he  shut  the  case,  he  smiled  as  he  plunged 
it  in  after  the  bills.  There  was  gloating  in  this 
smile.  He  seemed  to  have  got  what  he  wanted 
more  than  when  he  fingered  the  bills.  I  was  stiff 
with  horror.  I  was  not  conscious  of  noting  these 
details,  but  I  saw  them  every  one.  Small  things 
make  an  impression  when  the  mind  is  numb  under 
the  effect  of  a  great  blow. 

Next  moment  I  woke  to  a  realisation  of  myself 
and  all  the  danger  of  my  own  position.  He  was 
scanning  very  carefully  the  room  about  him.  His 
eyes  were  travelling  slowly  —  very  slowly  but  cer- 
tainly, in  my  direction.  I  saw  them  pause  —  con- 
centrate their  glances  and  fix  them  straight  and  full 
upon  mine.  Not  that  he  saw  me.  The  crack 
through  which  we  were  peering  each  in  our  several 
ways  was  too  narrow  for  that.  But  the  crack  it- 
self—  that  was  what  he  saw  and  the  promise  it 
gave  of  some  room  beyond.  I  was  a  creature 
frozen.  But  when  he  suddenly  turned  away  instead 
of  plunging  towards  me  with  his  still  smoking  pis- 
tol, I  had  the  instinct  to  make  a  leap  for  the  window 
over  my  head  and  clutch  madly  at  its  narrow  sill 
in  a  wild  attempt  at  escape. 


264  DARK  HOLLOW 

But  the  effort  ended  precipitately.  Terror  had 
got  me  by  the  h.air,  and  terror  made  me  look  back. 
The  crack  had  widened  still  further,  and  what  I  now 
saw  through  it  glued  me  to  the  wall  and  held  me 
there  transfixed,  with  dangling  feet  and  starting  eye- 
balls. 

He  was  coming  towards  me  —  a  straining,  pant- 
ing figure  —  half  carrying,  half  dragging,  the  dead 
man  who  flopped  aside  from  his  arms. 

God!  what  was  I  to  do  now!  How  meet  those 
cold,  indifferent  eyes  filled  only  with  thoughts  of 
his  own  safety  and  see  them  flare  again  with  mur- 
derous impulse  and  that  impulse  directed  towards 
myself!  I  couldn't  meet  them;  I  couldn't  stay;  but 
how  fly  when  not  a  muscle  responded.  I  had  to 
stay  —  hanging  from  the  sill  and  praying  —  pray- 
ing —  till  my  senses  blurred  and  I  knew  nothing  till 
on  a  sudden  they  cleared  again,  and  I  woke  to  the 
blessed  realisation  that  the  door  had  been  pushed 
against  my  slender  figure,  hiding  it  completely  from 
his  sight,  and  that  this  door  was  now  closed  again 
and  this  time  tightly,  and  I  was  safe  —  safe! 

The  relief  sent  the  perspiration  in  a  reek  from 
every  pore ;  but  the  icy  revulsion  came  quickly.  As 
I  drew  up  my  knees  to  get  a  better  purchase  on  the 
sill,  heaven's  torch  was  suddenly  lit  up,  the  closet 
became  a  pit  of  dazzling  whiteness  amid  which  I 
saw  the  blot  of  that  dead  body,  with  head  propped 
against  the  wall  and  eyes  — 

Remember,  I  was  but  fifteen.  The  legs  were 
hunched  up  and  almost  touched  mine.  I  could  feel 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  265 

them  —  though  there  was  no  contact  —  pushing  me 

—  forcing  me   from   my  frail  support.     Would   it 
lighten  again  ?     Would  I  have  to  see  —  No !  any  risk 
first.     The  window  —  I  no  longer  thought  of  it.     It 
was  too  remote,  too  difficult.     The  door  —  the  door 

—  there  was  my  way  —  the  only  way  which  would 
rid  me  instantly  of  any  proximity  to  this  hideous  ob- 
ject.    I    flung   myself    at   it  —  found   the   knob  — 
turned  it  and  yelled  aloud  —  My  foot  had  brushed 
against  him.     I  knew  the  difference  and  it  sent  me 
palpitating  over  the  threshold ;  but  no  further.    Love 
of  life  had  returned  with  my  escape  from  that  awful 
prison-house,  and  I  halted  in  the  semidarkness  into 
which  I  had  plunged,  thanking  Heaven  for  the  thun- 
der peal  which  had  drowned  my  loud  cry. 

For  I  was  not  yet  safe.  He  was  still  there.  He 
had  turned  out  all  lights  but  one,  but  this  was  suffi- 
cient to  show  me  his  tall  figure  straining  up  to  put 
out  this  last  jet. 

Another  instant  and  darkness  enveloped  the  whole 
place.  He  had  not  seen  me  and  was  going.  I 
could  hear  the  sound  of  his  feet  as  he  went  stumb- 
ling in  his  zigzag  course  towards  the  door.  Then 
every  sound  both  on  his  part  and  on  mine  was  lost 
in  a  swoop  of  down-falling  rain  and  I  remember 
nothing  more  till  out  of  the  blankness  before  me, 
he  started  again  into  view,  within  the  open  doorway 
where  in  the  glare  of  what  he  called  heaven's  candles 
he  stood,  poising  himself  to  meet  the  gale  which 
seemed  ready  to  catch  him  up  and  whirl  him  with 
other  inconsequent  things  into  the  void  of  nothing- 


266  DARK  HOLLOW 

ness.  Then  darkness  settled  again  and  I  was  left 
alone  with  Murder;  —  all  the  innocence  of  my 
youth  gone,  and  my  soul  a  very  charnel  house. 

I  had  to  re-enter  that  closet;  I  had  to  take  the 
only  means  of  escape  proffered.  But  I  went  through 
it  as  we  go  through  the  horrors  of  nightmare.  My 
muscles  obeyed  my  volition,  but  my  sensibilities  were 
no  longer  active.  How  I  managed  to  draw  myself 
up  to  that  slippery  sill  all  reeking  now  with  rain,  or 
save  myself  from  falling  to  my  death  in  the  whirl- 
ing blast  that  carried  everything  about  me  into  the 
ravine  below,  I  do  not  know. 

I  simply  did  it  and  escaped  all  —  lightning-flash 
and  falling  limb,  and  the  lasso  of  swirling  winds  — 
to  find  myself  at  last  lying  my  full  length  along  the 
bridge  amid  a  shock  of  elements  such  as  nature  sel- 
dom sports  with.  Here  I  clung,  for  I  was  breath- 
less, waiting  with  head  buried  in  my  arm  for 
the  rain  to  abate  before  I  attempted  a  further 
escape  from  the  place  which  held  such  horror  for 
mel 

But  no  abatement  came,  and  feeling  the  bridge 
shaking  under  me  almost  to  cracking,  I  began  to 
crawl,  inch  by  inch,  along  its  gaping  boards  till  I 
reached  its  middle. 

There  God  stopped  me. 

For,  with  a  clangour  as  of  rending  worlds,  a  bolt, 
hot  from  the  zenith,  sped  down  upon  the  bluff  be- 
hind me,  throwing  me  down  again  upon  my  face 
and  engulfing  sense  and  understanding  for  one  wild 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  267 

moment.  Then  I  sprang  upright  and  with  a  yell  of 
terror  sped  across  the  rocking  boards  beneath  me  to 
the  road,  no  longer  battling  with  my  desire  to  look 
back;  no  longer  asking  myself  when  and  how  that 
dead  man  would  be  found;  no  longer  even  asking 
my  own  duty  in  the  case ;  for  Spencer's  Folly  was  on 
fire  and  the  crime  I  had  just  seen  perpetrated  there 
would  soon  be  a  crime  stricken  from  the  sight  of 
men  forever. 

In  the  flare  of  its  tremendous  burning  I  found 
my  way  up  through  the  forest  road  to  my  home  and 
into  my  father's  presence.  He  like  everybody  else 
was  up  that  night,  and  already  alarmed  at  my  con- 
tinued absence. 

"  Spencer's  Folly  is  on  fire,"  I  cried,  as  he  cast 
dismayed  eyes  at  my  pallid  and  dripping  figure.  "  If 
you  go  to  the  door,  you  can  see  it !  " 

But  I  told  him  nothing  more. 

Perhaps  other  boys  of  my  age  can  understand  my 
silence. 

I  not  only  did  not  tell  my  father,  but  I  told  no- 
body, even  after  the  discovery  of  Spencer's  charred 
body  in  the  closet  so  miraculously  preserved.  With 
every  day  that  passed^  it  became  harder  to  part  with 
this  baleful  secret.  I  felt  it  corroding  my  thoughts 
and  destroying  my  spirits,  and  yet  I  kept  still.  Only 
my  taste  for  modelling  was  gone.  I  have  never 
touched  clay  since. 

Claymore  Tavern  did  change  owners.  When  I 
heard  that  a  man  by  the  name  of  Scoville  had  bought 
it,  I  went  over  to  see  Scoville.  He  was  the  man. 


268  DARK  HOLLOW 

Then  I  began  to  ask  myself  what  I  ought  to  do  with 
my  knowledge,  and  the  more  I  asked  myself  this 
question,  and  the  more  I  brooded  over  the  matter, 
the  less  did  I  feel  like  taking,  not  the  public,  but 
my  father,  into  my  confidence. 

I  had  never  doubted  his  love  for  me,  but  I  had 
always  stood  in  great  awe  of  his  reproof,  and  I  did 
not  know  where  I  was  to  find  courage  to  tell  him 
all  the  details  of  this  adventure. 

There  is  one  thing  I  did  do,  however.  I  made 
certain  inquiries  here  and  there,  and  soon  satisfied 
myself  as  to  how  Scoville  had  been  able  to  come  into 
town,  commit  this  horrid  deed  and  escape  without 
any  one  but  myself  being  the  wiser.  Spencer  and  he 
had  come  from  the  west  en  route  to  New  York  with- 
out any  intention  of  stopping  off  in  Shelby.  But 
once  involved  in  play,  they  got  so  interested  that 
when  within  a  few  miles  of  the  town,  Spencer  pro- 
posed that  they  should  leave  the  train  and  finish  the 
game  in  his  own  house.  Whether  circumstances 
aided  them,  or  Spencer  took  some  extraordinary  pre- 
cautions against  being  recognised,  will  never  be 
known.  But  certain  it  is  that  he  escaped  all  ob- 
servation at  the  station  and  even  upon  the  road. 
When  Scoville  returned  alone,  the  storm  had  reached 
such  a  height  that  the  roads  were  deserted,  and  he, 
being  an  entire  stranger  here  at  that  time,  naturally 
attracted  no  attention,  and  so  was  able  to  slip  away 
on  the  next  train  with  just  the  drawback  of  buying 
a  new  ticket.  I,  a  boy  of  fifteen,  trespassing  where 
I  did  not  belong,  was  the  only  living  witness  of  what 


ONE  SECRET  LESS  269 

had  happened  on  this  night  of  dreadful  storm,  in 
the  house  which  was  now  a  ruin. 

I  realised  the  unpleasantness  of  the  position  in 
which  this  put  me,  but  not  its  responsibility.  Sco- 
ville,  ignorant  that  any  other  breast  than  his  own 
held  the  secret  of  that  hour  of  fierce  temptation  and 
murder,  naturally  scented  no  danger  and  rejoiced 
without  stint  in  his  new  acquisition.  What  evil 
might  I  not  draw  down  upon  myself  by  disturbing 
him  in  it  at  this  late  day.  If  I  were  going  to  do  any- 
thing, I  should  have  done  it  at  first  —  so  I  rea- 
soned, and  let  the  matter  slide.  I  became  inter- 
ested in  school  and  study,  and  the  years  passed  and 
I  had  almost  forgotten  the  occurrence,  when  sud- 
denly the  full  remembrance  came  back  upon  me  with 
a  rush.  A  man  —  my  father's  friend  —  was  found 
murdered  in  sight  of  this  spot  of  old-time  horror, 
and  Scoville  was  accused  of  the  act. 

I  was  older  now  and  saw  my  fault  in  all  its 
enormity.  I  was  guilty  of  that  crime  —  or  so  I 
felt  in  the  first  heat  of  my  sorrow  and  despair.  I 
may  even  have  said  so  —  in  dreams  or  in  some  of 
my  self-absorbed  broodings.  Though  I  certainly 
had  not  lifted  the  stick  against  Mr.  Etheridge,  I 
had  left  the  hand  free  which  did,  and  this  was  a 
sufficient  occasion  for  remorse  —  or  so  I  truly  felt. 

I  was  so  affected  by  the  thought  that  even  my 
father,  with  his  own  weight  of  troubles,  noticed 
my  care-worn  face  and  asked  me  for  an  explanation. 
But  I  held  him  off  until  the  verdict  was  reached,  and 
then  I  told  him.  I  had  not  liked  his  looks  for 


270  DARK  HOLLOW 

some  time;  they  seemed  to  convey  some  doubt  of 
the  justice  of  this  man's  sentence,  and  I  felt  that  if 
he  had  such  doubts,  they  might  be  eased  by  this 
certainty  of  Scoville's  murderous  tendencies  and  un- 
questionable greed. 

And  they  were;  but  as  Scoville  was  already 
doomed,  we  decided  that  it  was  unnecessary  to  make 
public  his  past  offences.  However,  with  an  eye 
upon  future  contingencies,  my  father  exacted  from 
me  in  writing  this  full  account  of  my  adventure, 
which  with  all  the  solemnity  of  an  oath  I  here  de- 
clare to  be  the  true  story  of  what  befell  me  in  the 
house  called  Spencer's  Folly,  on  the  night  of  awful 
storm,  September  Eleventh,  1895. 

OLIVER  OSTRANDER. 
Witnesses  to  above  signature, 

ARCHIBALD  OSTRANDER, 
BELA  JEFFERSON. 
Shelby November  7,  1898. 


XXV 

"WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK  OF  HIM  NOW?" 

THIS  was  the  document  and  these  the  words  which 
Deborah,  widow  of  the  man  thus  doubly  denounced, 
had  been  given  to  read  by  the  father  of  the  writer,  in 
the  darkened  room  which  had  been  and  still  was  to 
her,  an  abode  of  brooding  thought  and  unfathomable 
mystery. 

No  wonder  that  during  its  reading  more  than  one 
exclamation  of  terror  and  dismay  escaped  her,  as 
the  once  rehabilitated  form  of  the  dead  and  gone 
started  into  dreadful  life  again  before  her  eyes. 
There  were  so  many  reasons  for  believing  this 
record  to  be  an  absolute  relation  of  the  truth. 

Incoherent  phrases  which  had  fallen  from  those 
long-closed  lips  took  on  new  meaning  with  this 
unveiling  of  an  unknown  past.  Repugnances  for 
which  she  could  not  account  in  those  old  days,  she 
now  saw  explained.  He  would  never,  even  in  pass- 
ing, give  a  look  at  the  ruin  on  the  bluff,  so  attrac- 
tive to  every  eye  but  his  own.  As  for  entering  its 
gates  —  she  had  never  dared  so  much  as  to  ask  him 
to  do  so.  He  had  never  expressed  his  antipathy 
for  the  place,  but  he  had  made  her  feel  it.  She 
doubted  now  if  he  would  have  climbed  to  it  from 
the  ravine  even  to  save  his  child  from  falling  over 
its  verge.  Indeed,  she  saw  the  reason  now  why  he 
271 


272  DARK  HOLLOW 

could  not  explain  the-  reason  for  the  apathy  he 
showed  in  his  hunt  for  Reuther  on  that  fatal  day, 
and  his  so  marked  avoidance  of  the  height  where 
she  was  found. 

Then  the  watch  !  Deborah  knew  well  that  watch. 
She  had  often  asked  him  by  what  stroke  of  luck  he 
had  got  so  fine  a  timepiece.  But  he  had  never  told 
her.  Later,  it  had  been  stolen  from  him;  and  as 
he  had  a  mania  for  watches,  that  was  why,  per- 
haps — 

God !  was  her  mind  veering  back  to  her  old  idea 
as  to  his  responsibility  for  the  crime  committed  in 
Dark  Hollow?  Yes;  she  could  not  help  it.  Denial 
from  a  monster  like  this  —  a  man  who  with  such 
memories  and  such  spoil,  could  return  home  to  wife 
and  child,  with  some  gay  and  confused  story  of  a 
great  stroke  in  speculation  which  had  brought  him 
in  the  price  of  the  tavern  it  had  long  been  his  ambi- 
tion to  own  —  what  was  denial  from  such  lips  worth, 
though  emphasised  by  the  most  sacred  of  oaths,  and 
uttered  under  the  shadow  of  death.  The  judge 
was  right.  Oliver  —  whose  ingenuous  story  had 
restored  his  image  to  her  mind,  with  some  of  its 
old  graces  —  had  been  the  victim  of  circumstances 
and  not  John  Scoville.  Henceforth,  she  would  see 
him  as  such,  and  when  she  had  recovered  a  little 
from  the  effect  of  this  sudden  insight  into  the  re- 
volting past,  she  would  — 

Her  thoughts  had  reached  this  stage  and  her 
hand,  in  obedience  to  the  new  mood,  was  lightly 
ruffling  up  the  pages  before  her,  when  she  felt  a 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK  OF  HIM?"   273 

light  touch  on  her  shoulder  and  turned  with  a 
start. 

The  judge  was  at  her  back.  How  long  he  had 
stood  there  she  did  not  know,  nor  did  he  say.  The 
muttered  exclamations  which  had  escaped  her,  the 
irrepressible  cry  of  despair  she  had  given  when  she 
first  recognised  the  identity  of  the  "  stranger  "  may 
have  reached  him  where  he  sat  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  and  drawn  him  insensibly  forward  till  he 
could  overlook  her  shoulder  as  she  read,  and  taste 
with  her  the  horror  of  these  revelations  which  yet 
were  working  so  beneficent  a  result  for  him  and 
his.  It  may  have  been  so,  and  it  may  have  been 
that  he  had  not  made  his  move  till  he  saw  her  atti- 
tude change  and  her  head  droop  disconsolately  at 
the  reading  of  the  last  line.  She  did  not  ask,  as  I 
have  said,  nor  did  he  tell  her;  but  when  upon  feel- 
ing his  hand  upon  her  shoulder  she  turned,  he  was 
there;  and  while  his  lips  failed  to  speak,  his  eyes 
were  eloquent  and  their  question  single  and  impera- 
tive. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  now?  "  they  seemed 
to  ask,  and  rising  to  her  feet,  she  met  him  with  a 
smile,  ghastly  perhaps  with  the  lividness  of  the 
shadows  through  which  she  had  been  groping,  but 
encouraging  withal  and  soothing  beyond  measure 
to  his  anxious  and  harassed  soul. 

"  Oliver  is  innocent,"  she  declared,  turning  once 
more  to  lay  her  hand  upon  the  sheets  containing  his 
naive  confession.  l<  The  dastard  who  could  shoot 
his  host  for  plunder  is  capable  of  a  second  crime 


274  DARK  HOLLOW 

holding  out  a  similar  inducement.  Nothing  now 
will  ever  make  me  connect  Oliver  with  the  crime  at 
the  bridge.  As  you  said,  he  was  simply  near  enough 
the  Hollow  to  toss  into  it  the  stick  he  had  been 
whittling  on  his  way  from  the  oak  tree.  I  am  his 
advocate  from  this  minute." 

Her  eyes  were  still  resting  mechanically  upon  that 
last  page  lying  spread  out  before  her,  and  she  did 
not  observe  in  its  full  glory  the  first  gleam  of  tri- 
umphant joy  which,  in  all  probability,  Judge  Os- 
trander's  countenance  had  shown  in  years.  Nor  did 
he  see,  in  the  glad  confusion  of  the  moment,  the 
quick  shudder  with  which  she  lifted  her  trembling 
hand  away  from  those  papers  and  looked  up, 
squarely  at  last,  into  his  transfigured  visage. 

"  Oh,  judge !  "  she  murmured,  bursting  into  a 
torrent  of  tears.  "  How  you  must  have  suffered  to 
feel  so  great  a  relief !  "  Then  she  was  still,  very 
still,  and  waited  for  him  to  speak. 

"  I  suffered,"  he  presently  proceeded  to  state,  "  be- 
cause of  the  knowledge  which  had  come  to  me  of 
the  scandal  with  which  circumstances  threatened  us. 
Oliver  had  confided  to  me  (after  the  trial,  mind,  not 
before)  the  unfortunate  fact  of  his  having  been  in 
possession  of  the  stick  during  those  few  odd  minutes 
preceding  the  murder.  He  had  also  told  me  how 
he  had  boasted  once,  and  in  a  big  crowd,  too,  of 
his  intention  to  do  Etheridge.  He  had  meant  noth- 
ing by  the  phrase,  beyond  what  any  body  means  who 
mingles  boasting  with  temper,  but  it  was  a  nasty 
point  of  corroborative  evidence;  and  heart-breaking 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK  OF  HIM?"    275 

as  it  was  for  me  to  part  with  him,  I  felt  that  his 
future  career  would  be  furthered  by  a  fresh  start 
in  another  town.  You  see,"  he  continued,  a  faint 
blush  dyeing  his  old  cheek  .  .  .  old  in  sorrow  not 
in  years  ..."  I  am  revealing  mysteries  of  my  past 
life  which  I  have  hitherto  kept  strictly  within  my 
own  breast.  I  cannot  do  this  without  shame,  be- 
cause while  in  the  many  serious  conversations  we 
have  had  on  this  subject,  I  have  always  insisted  upon 
John  Scoville's  guilt.  I  have  never  allowed  myself 
to  admit  the  least  fact  which  would  in  any  way  com- 
promise Oliver.  A  cowardly  attitude  for  a  judge 
you  will  say,  and  you  are  right ;  but  for  a  father  — 
Mrs.  Scoville,  I  love  my  boy.  I  —  What's  that?  " 

The  front  door-bell  was  ringing. 

In  a  flash  Deborah  was  out  of  the  room.  It  was 
as  if  she  had  flown  with  unnecessary  eagerness  to 
answer  a  bidding  which,  after  all,  Reuther  could 
easily  have  attended  to.  It  struck  him  aghast  for 
the  instant,  then  he  began  slowly  to  gather  up  the 
papers  before  him  and  carry  them  back  into  the 
other  room.  Had  he,  instead,  made  straight  for 
the  doorway  leading  to  the  front  of  the  house,  he 
would  have  come  upon  the  figure  of  Deborah  stand- 
ing alone  and  with  her  face  pressed  in  anguish  and 
unspeakable  despair  against  the  lintel.  Something 
had  struck  her  heart  and  darkened  her  soul  since 
that  exalted  moment  in  which  she  cried: 

"  Henceforth  I  will  be  Oliver's  advocate." 

When  the  judge  at  last  came  forth,  it  was  at 
Reuther's  bidding. 


276  DARK  HOLLOW 

A  gentleman  wished  to  see  him  in  the  parlour. 

This  was  so  unprecedented, —  even  of  late  when 
the  ladies  did  receive  some  callers,  that  he  stopped 
short  after  his  first  instinctive  step,  to  ask  her  if  the 
gentleman  had  given  his  name. 

She  said  no;  but  added  that  he  was  not  alone; 
that  he  had  a  very  sferange  and  not  very  nice-look- 
ing person  with  him  whom  mother  insisted  should 
remain  in  the  hall.  "  Mother  requests  you  to  see 
the  gentleman,  Judge  Ostrander.  She  said  you 
would  wish  to,  if  you  once  saw  the  person  accom- 
panying him." 

With  a  dark  glance,  not  directed  against  her,  how- 
ever, the  judge  bade  her  run  away  to  the  kitchen 
and  as  far  from  all  these  troubles  as  she  could, 
then,  locking  his  door  behind  him,  as  he  always  did, 
he  strode  towards  the  front. 

He  found  Deboraii  standing  guard  over  an  ill- 
conditioned  fellow  whose  slouching  figure  slouched 
still  more  under  his  eye,  but  gave  no  other  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  presence.  Passing  him  without  a 
second  look,  Judge  Ostrander  entered  the  parlour 
where  he  found  no  less  a  person  than  Mr.  Black 
awaiting  him. 

There  was  no  bad  blood  between  these  two  what- 
ever their  past  relations  or  present  suspicions,  and 
they  were  soon  shaking  hands  with  every  appear- 
ance of  mutual  cordiality. 

The  judge  was  especially  courteous. 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  he,  "  of  any  occasion  which 
brings  you  again  under  my  roof,  though  from  the 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK  OF  HIM?"    277 

appearance  of  your  companion  I  judge  the  present 
one  to  be  of  no  very  agreeable  character." 

"  He's  honest  enough,"  muttered  Black,  with  a 
glance  towards  Deborah,  for  the  understanding  of 
which  the  judge  held  no  key.  Then,  changing  the 
subject,  "  You  had  a  very  unfortunate  experience 
this  afternoon.  Allow  me  to  express  my  regret  at 
an  outbreak  so  totally  unwarranted." 

A  grumble  came  from  the  hall  without.  Evi- 
dently his  charge,  if  we  may  so  designate  the  fellow 
he  had  brought  there,  had  his  own  ideas  on  this  sub- 
ject. 

"  Quiet  out  there!  "  shouted  Mr.  Black.  "  Mrs, 
Scoville,  you  need  not  trouble  yourself  to  stand  over 
Mr.  Flannagan  any  longer.  I'll  look  after  him." 

She  bowed  and  was  turning  away  when  the  judge 
intervened. 

"  Is  there  any  objection,"  he  asked,  "  to  Mrs.  Sco- 
ville's  remaining  present  at  this  interview?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  answered  the  lawyer. 

44  Then,  Mrs.  Scoville,  may  I  request  you  to  come 
in?" 

If  she  hesitated,  it  was  but  natural.  Exhaustion 
is  the  obvious  result  of  so  many  excitements,  and 
that  she  was  utterly  exhausted  was  very  apparent. 
Mr.  Black  cast  her  a  commiserating  smile,  but  the 
judge  only  noticed  that  she  entered  the  room  at  his 
bidding  and  sat  down  by  the  window.  He  was  key- 
ing himself  up  to  sustain  a  fresh  excitement.  He 
was  as  exhausted  as  she,  possibly  more  so.  He  had 
a  greater  number  of  wearing  years  to  his  credit. 


278        .  DARK  HOLLOW 

"Judge,  I'm  your  friend;"  thus  Mr.  Black  be- 
gan. "  Thinking  you  must  wish  to  know  who 
started  the  riotous  procedure  which  disgraced  our 
town  to-day,  I  have  brought  the  ringleader  here  to 
answer  for  himself  —  that  is,  if  you  wish  to  ques- 
tion him." 

Judge  Ostrander  wheeled  about,  gave  the  man  a 
searching  look,  and  failing  to  recognise  him  as  any 
one  he  had  ever  seen  before,  beckoned  him  in. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he,  when  the  lounging  and  in- 
solent figure  was  fairly  before  their  eyes,  "  that  this 
is  not  the  first  time  you  have  been  asked  to  explain 
your  enmity  to  my  long  absent  son." 

"  Naw;  I've  had  my  talk  wherever  and  whenever 
I  took  the  notion.  Oliver  Ostrander  hit  me  once. 
I  was  jest  a  little  chap  then  and  meanin'  no  harm  to 
any  one.  I  kept  a-pesterin'  of  'im  and  he  hit  me. 
He'd  a  better  have  hit  a  feller  who  hadn't  my 
memory.  I've  never  forgiven  that  hit,  and  I  never 
will.  That's  why  I'm  hittin'  him  now.  It's  just  my 
turn;  that's  all." 

"  Your  turn !  Your  turn !  And  what  do  you 
think  has  given  you  an  opportunity  to  turn  on  him?  " 

"  I'm  not  in  the  talkin'  mood  just  now,"  the  fel- 
low drawled,  frankly  insolent,  not  only  in  his  tone 
but  in  his  bearing  to  all  present.  "  Nor  can  you 
make  it  worth  my  while,  you  gents.  I'll  not  take 
money.  I'm  an  honest  hard-workin'  man  who  can 
earn  his  own  livin',  and  you  can't  pay  me  to  keep 
still,  or  to  go  away  from  Shelby  a  day  sooner  than 
I  want  to.  I  was  goin'  away,  but  I  gave  it  up  when 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK  OF  HIM?"   279 

they  told  me  that  things  were  beginnin'  to  look  black 
against  Ol  Ostrander;  —  that  a  woman  had  come 
into  town  who  was  a-stirrin'  up  things  generally  about 
that  old  murder  for  which  a  feller  had  already  been 
'lectrocuted,  and  knowin'  somethin'  myself  about  that 
murder  and  Ol  Ostrander,  I  —  well,  I  stayed." 

The  quiet  threat,  the  suggested  possibility,  the 
attack  which  wraps  itself  in  vague  uncertainty,  are 
ever  the  most  effective.  As  his  raucous  voice,  dry 
with  sinister  purpose  which  no  man  could  shake, 
died  out  in  an  offensive  drawl,  Mr.  Black  edged  a 
step  nearer  the  judge,  before  he  sprang  and  caught 
the  young  fellow  by  the  coat-collar  and  gave  him  a 
very  vigorous  shake. 

"  See  here !  "  he  threatened.  "  Behave  yourself 
and  treat  the  judge  like  a  gentleman  or  — " 

"  Or  what?  "  the  bulldog  mouth  sneered.  "  See 
here  yourself,"  he  now  shouted,  as  the  lawyer's 
hands  unloosed  and  he  stood  panting;  "  I'm  not 
afeard  o'  you,  sir,  nor  of  the  jedge,  nor  of  the  lady 
nuther.  I  knows  somethin',  I  do;  and  when  I  gets 
ready  to  tell  it,  we'll  just  see  whose  coat-collar  they'll 
be  handlin'.  I  came  'cause  I  wanted  to  see  the  in- 
side o'  the  house  Ol  Ostrander's  father  doesn't 
think  him  good  enough  to  live  in.  It's  grand;  but 
this  part  here  isn't  the  whole  of  it.  There's  a  door 
somewhere  which  nobody  never  opens  unless  it's 
the  jedge  there.  I'd  like  to  see  what's  behind  that 
'ere  door.  If  it's  somethin'  to  make  a  good  story  out 
of,  I  might  be  got  to  keep  quiet  about  this  other 
thing.  I  don't  know,  but  I  might." 


280  DARK  HOLLOW 

The  swagger  with  which  he  said  this,  the  confi- 
dence in  himself  which  he  showed  and  the  reliance 
he  so  openly  put  in  the  something  he  knew  but  could 
not  be  induced  to  tell,  acted  so  strongly  upon  Mr. 
Black's  nerves,  that  he  leaped  towards  him  again, 
evidently  with  the  intention  of  dragging  him  from 
the  house. 

But  the  judge  was  not  ready  for  this.  The  judge 
had  gained  a  new  lease  of  life  in  the  last  half-hour 
and  he  felt  no  fear  of  this  sullen  bill-poster  for  all 
his  sly  innuendoes.  He,  therefore,  hindered  the 
lawyer  from  his  purpose,  by  a  quick  gesture  of  so 
much  dignity  and  resolve  that  even  the  lout  himself 
was  impressed  and  dropped  some  of  his  sullen  bra- 
vado. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  this  fellow,"  he  an- 
nounced, looking  anywhere  but  at  the  drooping 
figure  in  the  window  which  ought,  above  all  things 
in  the  world,  to  have  engaged  his  attention.  "  Per- 
haps he  does  not  know  his  folly.  Perhaps  he  thinks 
because  I  was  thrown  aback  to-day  by  those  public 
charges  against  my  son  and  a  string  of  insults  for 
which  no  father  could  be  prepared,  that  I  am  se- 
riously disturbed  over  the  position  into  which  such 
unthinking  men  as  himself  have  pushed  Mr.  Oliver 
Ostrander.  I  might  be  if  there  were  truth  in  these 
charges  or  any  serious  reason  for  connecting  my  up- 
right and  honourable  son  with  the  low  crime  of  a 
highwayman.  But  there  is  not.  I  aver  it  and  so 
will  this  lady  here  whom  you  have  doubtless  rec- 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK  OF  HIM?"    281 

ognised  for  the  one  who  has  stirred  this  matter  up. 
You  can  bring  no  evidence  to  show  guilt  on  my  son's 
part," —  these  words  he  directed  straight  at  the  dis- 
comfited poster  of  bills  — "  because  there  is  no  evi- 
dence to  bring." 

Mr.  Black's  eyes  sparkled  with  admiration.  He 
could  not  have  used  this  method  with  the  lad,  but 
he  recognised  the  insight  of  the  man  who  could. 
Bribes  were  a  sign  of  weakness,  so  were  suggested 
force  and  counter-attack ;  but  scorn  —  a  calm  ignor- 
ing of  the  power  of  any  one  to  seriously  shake  Oliver 
Ostrander's  established  position  —  that  might  rouse 
wrath  and  bring  avowal ;  certainly  it  had  shaken  the 
man;  he  looked  much  less  aggressive  and  self-confi- 
dent than  before. 

However,  though  impressed,  he  was  not  yet 
ready  to  give  in.  Shuffling  about  with  his  feet  but 
not  yet  shrinking  from  an  encounter  few  men  of  his 
stamp  would  have  cared  to  subject  themselves  to, 
he  answered  with  a  remark  delivered  with  a  little 
more  civility  than  any  of  his  previous  ones : 

"  What  you  call  evidence  may  not  be  the  same  as 
I  calls  evidence.  If  you're  satisfied  at  thinkin'  my 
word's  no  good,  that's  your  business.  I  know  how 
I  should  feel  if  I  was  Ol  Ostrander's  father  and 
knew  what  I  know." 

"  Let  him  go,"  spoke  up  a  wavering  voice.  It 
was  Deborah's. 

But  the  judge  was  deaf  to  the  warning.  Deb- 
orah's voice  had  but  reminded  him  of  Deborah's 


282  DARK  HOLLOW 

presence.  Its  tone  had  escaped  him.  He  was  too 
engrossed  in  the  purpose  he  had  in  mind  to  notice 
shades  of  inflection. 

But  Mr.  Black  had,  and  quick  as  thought  he 
echoed  her  request: 

"  He  is  forgetting  himself.  Let  him  go,  Judge 
Ostrander." 

But  that  astute  magistrate,  wise  in  all  other  causes 
but  his  own,  was  no  more  ready  now  than  before  to 
do  this. 

"  In  a  moment,"  he  conceded.  "  Let  me  first 
make  sure  that  this  man  understands  me.  I  have 
said  that  there  exists  no  evidence  against  my  son. 
I  did  not  mean  that  there  may  not  be  supposed  evi- 
dence. That  is  more  than  probable.  No  suspicion 
could  have  been  felt  and  none  of  these  outrageous 
charges  made,  without  that.  He  was  unfortunate 
enough  not  only  to  have  been  in  the  ravine  that 
night  but  to  have  picked  up  Scoville's  stick  and  car- 
ried it  towards  the  bridge,  whittling  it  as  he  went. 
But  his  connection  with  the  crime  ends  there.  He 
dropped  this  stick  before  he  came  to  where  the 
wood  path  joins  Factory  Road;  and  another  hand 
than  his  raised  it  against  Etheridge.  This  I  aver; 
and  this  the  lady  here  will  aver.  You  have  proba- 
bly already  recognised  her.  If  not,  allow  me  to 
tell  you  that  she  is  the  lady  whose  efforts  have 
brought  back  this  case  to  the  public  mind:  Mrs. 
Scoville,  the  wife  of  John  Scoville  and  the  one  of  all 
others  who  has  the  greatest  interest  in  proving  her 
husband's  innocence.  If  she  says,  that  after  the 


44  WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK  OF  HIM?"   283 

most  careful  inquiry  and  a  conscientious  reconsid- 
eration of  this  case,  she  has  found  herself  forced 
to  come  to  the  conclusion  that  justice  has  already 
been  satisfied  in  this  matter,  you  will  believe  her, 
won't  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  drawled  the  man,  a  low  and 
cunning  expression  lighting  up  his  ugly  countenance. 
"  She  wants  to  marry  her  daughter  to  your  son.  Any 
live  dog  is  better  than  a  dead  one;  I  guess  her 
opinion  don't  go  for  much." 

Recoiling  before  a  cynicism  that  pierced  with  un- 
erring skill  the  one  joint  in  his  armour  he  knew  to  be 
vulnerable,  the  judge  took  a  minute  in  which  to  con- 
trol his  rage  and  then  addressing  the  half-averted 
figure  in  the  window  said: 

"  Mrs.  Scoville,  will  you  assure  this  man  that  you 
have  no  expectations  of  marrying  your  daughter  to 
Oliver  Ostrander?" 

With  a  slow  movement  more  suggestive  of  de- 
spair than  any  she  had  been  seen  to  make  since  the 
hour  of  her  indecision  had  first  struck,  she  shifted 
in  her  seat  and  finally  faced  them,  with  the  asser- 
tion: 

"  Reuther  Scoville  will  never  marry  Oliver  Os- 
trander. Whatever  my  wishes  or  willingness  in  the 
matter,  she  herself  is  so  determined.  Not  because 
she  does  not  believe  in  his  integrity,  for  she  does; 
but  because  she  will  not  unite  herself  to  one  whose 
prospects  in  life  are  more  to  her  than  her  own  hap- 
piness." 

The  fellow  stared,  then  laughed: 


284  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  She's  a  goodun,"  he  sneered.  "  And  you  be- 
lieve that  bosh.?  " 

Mr.  Black  could  no  longer  contain  himself. 

"  I  believe  you  to  be  the  biggest  rascal  in  town," 
he  shouted.  "  Get  out,  or  I  won't  answer  for  my- 
self. Ladies  are  not  to  be  treated  in  this  manner." 

Did  he  remember  his  own  rough  handling  of  the 
sex  on  the  witness  stand? 

"  /  didn't  ask  to  see  the  ladies,"  protested  Flan- 
nagan,  turning  with  a  slinking  gait  towards  the  door. 

If  they  only  had  let  him  go !  If  the  judge  in  his 
new  self-confidence  had  not  been  so  anxious  to 
deepen  the  effect  and  make  any  future  repetition  of 
the  situation  impossible! 

"  You  understand  the  lady,"  he  interposed,  with 
the  quiet  dignity  which  was  so  imposing  on  the 
bench.  "  She  has  no  sympathy  with  your  ideas  and 
no  faith  in  your  conclusions.  She  believes  ab- 
solutely in  my  son's  innocence." 

"  Do  you,  ma'am?"  The  man  had  turned  and 
was  surveying  her  with  the  dogged  impudence  of  his 
class.  "  I'd  like  to  hear  you  say  it,  if  you  don't 
mind,  ma'am.  Perhaps,  then,  I'll  believe  it." 

"  I  — "  she  began,  trembling  so,  that  she  failed 
to  reach  her  feet,  although  .she  made  one  spasmodic 
effort  to  do  so.  "  I  believe  —  Oh,  I  feel  ill !  It's 
been  too  much  —  I  — "  her  head  fell  forward  and 
she  turned  herself  quite  away  from  them  all. 

"  You  see  she  ain't  so  eager,  jedge,  as  you 
thought,"  laughed  the  bill-poster,  with  a  clumsy  bow 
he  evidently  meant  to  be  sarcastic. 


"WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK  OF  HIM?"   285 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  done !  "  moaned  Deborah, 
starting  up  as  though  she  would  fling  herself  after 
the  retreating  figure,  now  half  way  down  the  hall. 

She  saw  in  the  look  of  the  judge  as  he  forcibly 
stopped  her,  and  heard  in  the  lawyer's  whisper  as 
he  bounded  past  them  both  to  see  the  fellow  out: 
"Useless;  nothing  will  bridle  him  now";  and  find- 
ing no  support  for  her  despairing  spirit  either  on 
earth  or,  as  she  thought,  in  heaven,  she  collapsed 
where  she  sat  and  fell  unnoticed  to  the  floor,  where 
she  lay  prone  at  the  feet  of  the  equally  unconscious 
figure  of  the  judge,  fixed  in  another  attack  of  his 
peculiar  complaint. 

And  thus  the  lawyer  found  them  when  he  returned 
from  closing  the  gate  behind  Flannagan. 


XXVI 

THE   TELEGRAM 

"  I  CANNOT  say  anything,  I  cannot  do  anything  till 
I  have  had  a  few  words  with  Mrs.  Scoville.  How 
soon  do  you  think  I  can  speak  to  her?" 

"  Not  very  soon.  Her  daughter  says  she  is  quite 
worn  out.  Would  it  not  be  better  to  give  her  a  rest 
for  to-night,  judge?  " 

The  judge,  now  quite  recovered,  but  strangely 
shrunk  and  wan,  showed  no  surprise,  at  this  request, 
odd  as  it  was,  on  the  lips  of  this  honest  but  some- 
what crabbed  lawyer,  but  answered  out  of  the  ful- 
ness of  his  own  heart  and  from  the  depths  of  his 
preoccupation : 

"  My  necessity  is  greater  than  hers.  The  change 
I  saw  in  her  is  inexplicable.  One  moment  she  was 
all  fire  and  determination,  satisfied  of  Oliver's  in- 
nocence and  eager  to  proclaim  it.  The  next  —  but 
you  were  with  us.  You.  witnessed  her  hesitation  — 
felt  its  force  and  what  its  effect  was  upon  the  dam- 
nable scamp  who  has  our  honour  —  the  honour  of 
the  Ostranders  under  his  tongue.  Something  must 
have  produced  this  change.  What?  good  friend, 
what?" 

"  I  don't  know  any  more  than  you  do,  judge.  But 
I  think  you  are  mistaken  about  the  previous  nature 
286 


THE  TELEGRAM  287 

of  her  feelings.  I  noticed  that  she  was  not  at  peace 
with  herself  when  she  came  into  the  room." 

"What's  that?"  The  tone  was  short,  and  for 
the  first  time  irritable. 

"  The  change,  if  there  was  a  change,  was  not  so 
sudden  as  you  think.  She  looked  troubled,  and 
as  I  thought,  irresolute  when  she  came  into  the 
room." 

"  You  don't  know  her ;  you  don't  know  what 
passed  between  us.  She  was  all  right  then,  but' — 
Go  to  her,  Black.  She  must  have  recovered  by  this 
time.  Ask  her  to  come  here  for  a  minute.  I  won't 
detain  her.  I  will  wait  for  her  warning  knock  right 
here." 

Alanson  Black  was  a  harsh  man,  but  he  had  a  soft 
streak  in  him  —  a  streak  which  had  been  much  de- 
veloped of  late.  Where  he  loved,  he  could  be  ex- 
traordinarily kind,  and  he  loved,  had  loved  for  years, 
in  his  own  way  which  was  not  a  very  demonstrative 
one,  this  man  whom  he  was  now  striving  to  serve. 
But  a  counter  affection  was  making  difficulties  for 
him  just  at  this  minute.  Against  all  probability, 
many  would  have  said  possibility,  Deborah  Scoville 
had  roused  in  this  hard  nature,  a  feeling  which  he 
was  not  yet  ready  to  name  even  to  himself,  but  which 
nevertheless  stood  very  decidedly  in  his  way  when 
the  judge  made  this  demand  which  meant  further 
distress  to  her. 

But  the  judge  had  declared  his  necessity  to  be 
greater  than  hers,  and  after  Mr.  Black  had  sub- 
jected him  to  one  of  his  most  searching  looks  he  de- 


288  DARK  HOLLOW 

cided  that  this  was  so,  and  quietly  departed  upon  his 
errand.  The  judge  left  alone,  sat,  a  brooding  fig- 
ure in  his  great  chair,  with  no  light  in  heart  or  mind 
to  combat  the  shadows  of  approaching  night  settling 
heavier  and  heavier  upon  the  room  and  upon  himself 
with  every  slow  passing  and  intolerable  minute. 

At  last,  when  the  final  ray  had  departed  and  dark- 
ness reigned  supreme,  there  came  a  low  knock  on  the 
door.  Then  a  troubled  cry: 

"  Oh,  judge,  are  you  here?  " 

"  I  am  here." 

"Alone  and  so  dark?" 

"  I  am  always  alone,  and  it  is  always  dark.  Is 
there  any  one  with  you  ?  " 

"No,  sir.     Shall  I  make  a  light?" 

"  No  light.     Is  the  door  quite  shut?  " 

"  No,  judge." 

"  Shut  it." 

There  came  the  sound  of  a  hand  fumbling  over 
the  panels,  then  a  quick  snap. 

"  It  is  shut,"  she  said. 

"  Don't  come  any  nearer;  it  is  not  necessary."  A 
pause,  then  the  quick  question  ringing  hollow  from 
the  darkness,  "Why  have  your  doubts  returned? 
Why  are  you  no  longer  the  woman  you  were  when 
not  an  hour  ago  and  in  this  very  spot  you  cried,  '  I 
will  be  Oliver's  advocate ! ' '  Then,  as  no  answer 
came, —  as  minutes  passed,  and  still  no  answer  came, 
he  spoke  again  and  added:  "  I  know  that  you  are 
ill  and  exhausted  —  broken  between  duty  and  sym- 
pathy; but  you  must  answer  me,  Mrs.  Scoville.  My 


THE  TELEGRAM  289 

affairs  won't  wait.  I  must  know  the  truth  and  all 
the  truth  before  this  day  is  over." 

"  You  shall."  Her  voice  sounded  hollow  too 
and  oh,  how  weary!  "You  allowed  the  document 
you  showed  me  to  remain  a  little  too  long  before 
my  eyes.  That  last  page  —  need  I  say  it?  " 

11  Say  it." 

"  Shows  —  shows  changes,  Judge  Ostrander. 
Some  words  have  been  erased  and  new  ones  writ- 
ten in.  They  are  not  many,  but  — " 

"  I  understand.  I  do  not  blame  you,  Deborah." 
The  words  came  after  a  pause  and  very  softly,  al- 
most as  softly  as  her  own  but  which  had  sounded  its 
low  knell  of  doom  through  the  darkness.  "  Too 
many  stumbling-blocks  in  your  way,  Deborah,  too 
much  to  combat.  The  most  trusting  heart  must 
give  way  under  such  a  strain.  That  page  was  tam- 
pered with.  I  tampered  with  it  myself.  I  am  not 
expert  at  forgery.  I  had  better  have  left  it,  as  he 
wrote  it."  Then  after  another  silence,  he  added, 
with  a  certain  vehemence :  "  We  will  struggle  no 
longer,  either  you  or  I.  The  boy  must  come  home. 
Prepare  Reuther,  or,  if  you  think  best,  provide  a 
place  for  her  where  she  will  be  safe  from  the  storm 
which  bids  fair  to  wreck  us  here.  No,  don't  speak; 
just  ask  Mr.  Black  to  return,  will  you?  " 

"Judge—" 

"  I  understand.     Mr.  Black,  Deborah." 

Slowly  she  moved  away  and  began  to  grope  for 
the  door.  As  her  hand  fell  on  the  knob  she  thought 
she  heard  a  sob  in  those  impenetrable  depths  be- 


290  DARK  HOLLOW 

hind  her;  but  when  she  listened  again,  all  was  still; 
still  as  if  merciful  death  and  not  weary  life  gave  its 
significance  to  the  surrounding  gloom. 

Shuddering,  she  turned  the  knob  and  paused  again 
for  rebuff  or  command.  Neither  came;  and,  real- 
ising that  having  spoken  once  the  judge  would  not 
speak  again,  she  slipped  softly  away,  and  the  door 
swung  to  after  her. 

When  Mr.  Black  re-entered  the  study,  it  was  to 
find  the  room  lighted  and  the  judge  bent  over  the 
table,  writing. 

"  You  are  going  to  send  for  Oliver?  "  he  queried. 

The  judge  hesitated,  then  motioning  Black  to 
sit,  said  abruptly: 

"  What  is  Andrews'  attitude  in  this  matter?  " 

Andrews  was  Shelby's  District  Attorney. 

Black's  answer  was  like  the  man. 

"  I  saw  him  for  one  minute  an  hour  ago.  I  think, 
at  present,  he  is  inclined  to  be  both  deaf  and  dumb, 
but  if  he's  driven  to  action,  he  will  act.  And, 
judge,  this  man  Flannagan  isn't  going  to  stop  where 
he  is." 

"  Black,  be  merciful  to  my  misery.  What  does 
this  man  know?  Have  you  any  idea?  " 

"  No,  judge,  I  haven't.  He's  as  tight  as  a  drum, 
—  and  as  noisy.  It  is  possible  —  just  possible  that 
he's  as  empty.  A  few  days  will  tell." 

"  I  cannot  wait  for  a  few  days.  I  hardly  feel  as 
if  I  could  wait  a  few  hours.  Oliver  must  come,  even 
if  —  if  the  consequences  are  likely  to  be  fatal.  An 
Ostrander  once  accused  cannot  skulk.  Oliver  has 


THE  TELEGRAM  291 

been  accused  and  —  Send  that!"  he  quickly  cried, 
pulling  forward  the  telegram  he  had  been  writing. 
Mr.  Black  took  up  the  telegram  and  read: 

Come  at  once.     Imperative.     No  delay  and  no  excuse. 
ARCHIBALD  OSTRANDER. 

"  Mrs.  Scoville  will  supply  the  address,"  con- 
tinued the  poor  father.  "  You  will  see  that  it  goes, 
and  that  its  sending  is  kept  secret.  The  answer, 
if  any  is  sent,  had  better  be  directed  to  your  office. 
What  do  you  say,  Black?" 

"  I  am  your  friend,  right  straight  through,,  judge. 
Your  friend." 

"  And  my  boy's  adviser  ?  " 

"You  wish  that?" 

"  Very  much." 

"  Then,  there's  my  hand  on  it,  unless  he  wishes 
a  change  when  we  see  him." 

"  He  will  not  wish  any  change." 

"  I  don't  know.  I'm  a  surly  fellow,  judge.  I 
have  known  you  all  these  years,  yet  I've  never  ex- 
pressed —  never  said  what  I  even  find  it  hard  to  say 
now,  that  —  that  my  esteem  is  something  more  than 
esteem;  that  —  that  I'll  do  anything  for  you,  judge." 

"  I  —  we  won't  talk  of  that,  Black.  Tell  Mrs. 
Scoville  to  keep  me  informed  —  and  bring  me  any 
message  that  may  come.  The  boy,  even  if  he  leaves 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  cannot  get  here  before 
to-morrow  night." 

"  Not  possibly." 


292  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  He  will  telegraph.  I  shall  hear  from  him.  O 
God!  the  hours  I  must  wait;  my  boy!  my  boy !  " 

It  was  nature's  irrepressible  cry.  Black  pressed 
his  hand  and  went  out  with  the  telegram. 


BOOK  III 
THE  DOOR  OF  MYSTERY 


XXVII 

HE   MUST   BE    FOUND 

THREE  hours  later,  an  agitated  confab  took  place 
at  the  gate,  or  rather  between  the  two  front  gates. 
Mr.  Black  had  rung  for  admittance,  and  Mrs.  Sco- 
ville  had  answered  the  call.  In  the  constrained  in- 
terview which  followed,  these  words  were  said: 

"  One  moment,  Mrs.  Scoville.  How  can  I  tell 
the  judge !  Young  Ostrander  is  gone  —  flew  the 
city,  and  I  can  get  no  clew  to  his  whereabouts. 
Some  warning  of  what  is  happening  here  may  have 
reached  him,  or  he  may  be  simply  following  impulses 
consequent  upon  his  personal  disappointments;  but 
the  fact  is  just  this  —  he  asked  for  two  weeks'  leave 
to  go  West  upon  business, —  and  he's  been  gone 
three.  Meanwhile,  no  word  has  come,  nor  can  his 
best  friends  tell  the  place  of  his  destination.  I  have 
been  burning  the  telegraph  wires  ever  since  the  first 
despatch,  and  this  is  the  result." 

"  Poor  Judge  Ostrander!  "  Then,  in  lower  and 
still  more  pathetic  tones,  "  Poor  Reuther !  " 

"Where  is  Reuther?" 

"  At  Miss  Weeks'.  I  had  to  command  her  to 
leave  me  alone  with  the  judge.  It's  the  first  time  I 
ever  spoke  unkindly  to  her." 

"  Shall  I  tell  the  judge  the  result  of  his  telegram, 
or  will  you  ?  " 

295 


296  DARK  HOLLOW. 

"  Have  you  the  messages  with  you?  " 

He  bundled  them  into  her  hand. 

"  I  will  hand  them  in  to  him.  We  can  do  nothing 
less  and  nothing  more.  Then  if  he  wants  you,  I 
will  telephone." 

"Mrs.  Scoville?" 

She  felt  his  hand  laid  softly  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Black." 

"  There  is  some  one  else  in  this  matter  to  con- 
sider besides  Judge  Ostrander." 

"  Reuther?  Oh,  don't  I  know  it!'  She's  not  out 
of  my  mind  a  moment." 

"  Reuther  is  young,  and  has  a  gallant  soul.  I 
mean  you,  Mrs.  Scoville,  you !  You  are  not  to  suc- 
cumb to  this  trial.  You  have  a  future  —  a  bright 
future  —  or  should  have.  Do  not  endanger  it  by 
giving  up  all  your  strength  now.  It's  precious,  that 
strength,  or  would  be  — " 

He  broke  off;  she  began  to  move  away.  Over- 
head in  the  narrow  space  of  sky  visible  to  them 
from  where  they  stood,  the  stars  burned  brightly. 
Some  instinct  made  them  look  up;  as  they  did  so, 
their  hands  met.  Then  a  gruff  sound  broke  the 
silenced  It  was  Alanson  Black's  voice  uttering  a 
grim  farewell. 

"  He  must  be  found !  Oliver  must  be  found !  " 
How  the  words  rung  in  her  ears.  She  had  handed 
in  the  messages  to  the  waiting  father;  she  had  uttered 
a  word  or  two  of  explanation,  and  then,  at  his  re- 


HE  MUST  BE  FOUND  297 

quest,  had  left  him.  But  his  last  cry  followed  her: 
"  He  must  be  found!  " 

When  she  told  it  to  Mr.  Black  the  next  morning, 
he  looked  serious. 

"Pride  or  hope?  "he  asked. 

"  Desperation,"  she  responded,  with  a  guilty  look 
about  her.  "  Possibly,  some  hope  is  in  it,  too.  Per- 
haps, he  thinks  that  any  charge  of  this  nature  must 
fall  before  Oliver's  manly  appearance.  Whatever 
he  thinks,  there  is  but  one  thing  to  do :  find  Oliver." 

"  Mrs.  Scoville,  the  police  have  started  upon  that 
attempt.  I  got  the  tip  this  morning." 

"  We  must  forestall  them.  To  satisfy  the  judge, 
Oliver  must  come  of  his  own  accord  to  face  these 
charges." 

"  It's  a  brave  stock.  If  Oliver  gets  his  father's 
telegram  he  will  come." 

"  But  how  are  we  to  reach  him !  We  are  abso- 
lutely in  the  dark." 

"  If  I  could  go  to  Detroit,  I  might  strike  some 
clew;  but  I  cannot  leave  the  judge.  Mr.  Black,  he 
told  me  this  morning  when  I  carried  in  his  breakfast 
that  he  should  see  no  one  and  go  nowhere  till  I 
brought  him  word  that  Oliver  was  in  the  house. 
The  hermit  life  has  begun  again.  What  shall  we 
do?  Advise  me  in  this  emergency,  for  I  feel  as 
helpless  as  a  child, —  as  a  lost  child." 

They  were  standing  far  apart  in  the  little  front 
parlour,  and  he  gave  no  evidence  of  wishing  to  les- 
sen the  space  between  them,  but  he  gave  her  a  look 


298  DARK  HOLLOW 

as  she  said  this,  which,  as  she  thought  it  over  after- 
wards, held  in  its  kindly  flame  something  which  had 
never  shone  upon  her  before,  whether  as  maid,  wife 
or  widow.  But,  while  she  noticed  it,  she  did  not 
dwell  upon  it  now,  only  upon  the  words  which  fol- 
lowed it. 

"  You  say  you  cannot  go  to  Detroit.  Shall  I 
go?" 

"Mr.  Black!" 

41  Court  is  adjourned.  I  know  of  nothing  more 
important  than  Judge  Ostrander's  peace  of  mind  — 
unless  it  is  yours.  I  will  go  if  you  say  so." 
.  "  Will  it  avail  ?  Let  me  think.  I  knew  him  well, 
and  yet  not  well  enough  to  know  where  he  would 
be  most  likely  to  go  under  impulse." 

"  There  is  some  one  who  knows  him  better  than 
you  do." 

"His  father?" 

"  No." 

"  Reuther?     Oh,  she  mustn't  be  told — " 

"  Yes,  she  must.  She's  our  one  adviser.  Go 
for  her  —  or  send  me." 

"  It  won't  be  necessary.  There's  her  ring  at  the 
gate.  But  oh,  Mr.  Black,  think  again  before  you 
trouble  this  fragile  child  of  mine  with,  doubts  and 
questions  which  make  her  mother  tremble." 

"  Has  she  shown  the  greater  weakness  yet?  " 

"No,  but— " 

"  She  has  sources  of  strength  which  you  lack. 
She  believes  absolutely  in  Oliver's  integrity.  It  will 
carry  her  through." 


HE  MUST  BE  FOUND  299 

"  Please  let  her  in,  Mr.  Black.  I  will  wait  here 
while  you  tell  her." 

Mr.  Black  hurried  from  the  room.  When  his 
form  became  visible  on  the  walk  without,  Deborah 
watched  him  from  where  she  stood  far  back  in  the 
room.  Why?  Was  this  swelling  of  her  impetuous 
heart  in  the  midst  of  such  suspense  an  instinct  of 
thankfulness?  A  staff  had  been  put  in  her  hand, 
rough  to  the  touch,  but  firm  under  pressure,  and 
she  needed  such  a  staff.  Yes,  it  was  thankfulness. 

But  she  forgot  gratitude  and  every  lesser  emo- 
tion in  watching  Reuther's  expression  as  the  two 
came  up  the  path.  The  child  was  radiant,  and  the 
mother,  thus  prepared,  was  not  surprised  when  the 
young  girl,  running  into  her  arms,  burst  out  with  the 
glad  cry: 

"  Oliver  is  no  longer  in  Detroit,  but  he's  wanted 
here,  and  Mr.  Black  and  I  are  going  to  find  him. 
I  think  I  know  where  to  look.  Get  me  ready, 
mother  dear;  we  are  going  to-night." 

"  You  are  going  to-night?  "  This  was  said  after 
the  first  moment  of  ebullition  had  past.  "  Where, 
Reuther?  You  have  not  been  corresponding  with 
Oliver.  How  should  you  know  where  to  look  for 
him?" 

Then  Reuther  told  her  story. 

"  Mr.  Ostrander  and  I  were  talking  very  seriously 
one  day.  It  was  before  we  became  definitely  en- 
gaged, and  he  seemed  to  feel  very  dispirited  and  un- 
certain of  the  future.  There  was  a  treatise  he 


300  DARK  HOLLOW 

wanted  to  write,  and  for  this  he  could  get  no  op- 
portunity in  Detroit.  *  I  need  time,'  he  said,  *  and 
complete  seclusion.'  And  then  he  made  this  re- 
mark: 'If  ever  life  becomes  too  much  for  me,  I 
shall  go  to  one  of  two  places  and  give  myself  up  to 
this  task.'  'And  what  are  the  places?'  I  asked. 
'  One  is  Washington,'  he  answered,  '  where  I  can 
have  the  run  of  a  great  library  and  the  influence  of 
the  most  inspiring  surroundings  in  the  world;  the 
other  is  a  little  lodge  in  a  mountain  top  above  Lake 
Placid  —  Tempest  Lodge,  they  call  it;  perhaps,  in 
contrast  to  the  peacefulness  it  dominates.'  And  he 
described  this  last  place  with  so  much  enthusiasm 
and  weighed  so  carefully  the  advantages  of  the  one 
spot  against  the  other  for  the  absorbing  piece  of 
work  that  he  contemplated,  that  I  am  sure  that  if 
we  do  not  find  him  in  Washington,  we  certainly  shall 
in  the  Adirondacks." 

"  Let  us  hope  that  it  will  be  in  Washington,"  re- 
plied the  lawyer,  with  a  keen  remembrance  of  the 
rigours  of  an  Adirondack  fall  —  rigours  of  which 
Reuther  in  her  enthusiasm,  if  not  in  her  ignorance, 
appeared  to  take  little  count.  "  And  now,"  he  went 
on,  "  this  is  how  I  hope  to  proceed.  We  will  go 
first  to  Washington,  and,  if  unsuccessful  there,  to 
Tempest  Lodge.  We  will  take  Miss  Weeks  with  us, 
for  I  am  sure  that  I  could  not,  without  some  such 
assistance,  do  justice  to  this  young  lady's  comfort. 
If  you  have  a  picture  of  Mr.  Ostrander  as  he  looks 
now,  I  hope  you  will  take  it,  Miss  Scoville.  With 
that  and  the  clew  to  his  intentions,  which  you  have 


HE  MUST  BE  FOUND  301 

given  me,  I  have  no  doubt  that  we  shall  find  him 
within  the  week." 

"  But,"  objected  Deborah,  "  if  you  know  where 
to  look  for  him,  why  take  the  child?  Why  go  your- 
self? Why  not  telegraph  to  these  places?  " 

His  answer  was  a  look,  quick,  sharp  and  enigmat- 
ical enough  to  require  explanation.  He  could  not 
give  it  to  her  then,  but  later,  when  Reuther  had  left 
them,  he  said : 

"  Men  who  fly  their  engagements  and  secrete  them- 
selves, with  or  without  a  pretext,  are  not  so  easily 
reached.  We  shall  have  to  surprise  Oliver  Os- 
trander,  in  order  to  place  his  father's  message  in 
his  hands." 

"You  may  be  right.  But  Reuther?  Can  she 
stand  the  excitement  —  the  physical  strain?" 

"  You  have  the  harder  task  of  the  two,  Mrs.  Sco- 
ville.  Leave  the  little  one  to  me.  She  shall  not 
suffer." 

Deborah's  response  was  eloquent.  It  was  only  a 
look,  but  it  made  his  harsh  features  glow  and  his 
hard  eye  soften.  Alanson  Black  had  waited  long, 
but  his  day  of  romance  had  come  —  and  possibly 
hers  also. 

But  his  thoughts,  if  not  his  hopes,  received  a  check 
when,  with  every  plan  made  and  Miss  Weeks,  as 
well  as  Reuther,  in  trembling  anticipation  of  the 
journey,  he  encountered  the  triumphant  figure  of 
Flannagan  coming  out  of  Police  Headquarters. 

His  jaunty  air,  his  complaisant  nod,  admitted  of 
but  one  explanation.  He  had  told  his  story  to  the 


302  DARK  HOLLOW 

chief  authorities  and  been  listened  to.  Proof  that 
he  had  something  of  actual  moment  to  tell  them ; 
something  which  the  District  Attorney's  office  might 
feel  bound  to  take  up. 

Alanson  Black  felt  the  shock  of  this  discovery,  but 
was  glad  of  the  warning  it  gave  him.  Plans  which 
had  seemed  both  simple  and  natural  before,  he  now 
saw  must  be  altered  to  suit  the  emergency.  He 
could  no  longer  hope  to  leave  town  with  his  lit- 
tle party  without  attracting  unwelcome  attention. 
They  might  even  be  followed.  For  whatever  Flan- 
nagan  may  have  told  the  police,  there  was  one  thing 
he  had  been  unable  to  impart,  and  that  was  where 
to  look  for  Oliver.  Only  Reuther  held  that  clew, 
and  if  they  once  suspected  this  fact,  she  would  cer- 
tainly become  the  victim  of  their  closest  surveillance. 
Little  Reuther,  therefore,  must  not  accompany  him 
on  his  quest,  but  hold  herself  quite  apart  from  it; 
or,  better  still,  be  made  to  act  as  a  diversion  to  draw 
off  the  scent  from  the  chief  actor,  which  was  him- 
self. The  idea  was  good,  and  one  to  be  imme- 
diately carried  out. 

Continuing  on  to  his  office,  he  called  up  Miss 
Weeks. 

"  Are  you  there?  "  he  asked. 

Yes,  she  was  there. 

"Alone?" 

Yes,  Reuther  was  home  packing. 

"  Nobody  around?  " 

Nobody. 

"  No  one  listening  on  the  line  ?  " 


"TELL    ME    WHAT    THIS     MEANS,"     HE    SAID,    BUT    HE     DID 
NOT    TURN     HIS     HEAD     AS     HE     MADE     THIS     REQUEST 


HE  MUST  BE  FOUND  303 

She  was  sure  not. 

"  Very  well.  Listen  closely  and  act  quickly. 
You  are  not  to  go  to  —  I  will  not  mention  the  name ; 
and  you  are  not  to  wait  for  me.  You  are  to  start 
at  the  hour  named,  but  you  will  buy  tickets  for  At- 
lantic City,  where  you  must  get  what  accommoda- 
tions you  can.  Our  little  friend  needs  to  be  taken 
out  of  town, — -  not  on  business  you  understand,  but 
to  escape  the  unpleasantness  here  and  to  get  such 
change  as  will  distract  her  mind.  Her  mother  can- 
not leave  her  duties,  so  you  have  undertaken  to  ac- 
company the  child.  The  rest  leave  to  me.  Have 
you  understood  all  this?  " 

"Yes,  perfectly;  but—" 

"  Not  another  word,  Miss  Weeks.  The  change 
will  do  our  little  friend  good.  Trust  my  judgment, 
and  ask  her  to  do  the  same.  Above  all,  do  not  be 
late  for  the  train.  Telephone  at  once  for  a  cab, 
and  forget  everything  but  the  pleasant  trip  before 
you. —  Oh,  one  minute!  There's  an  article  you 
had  better  send  me.  I  hope  you  can  guess  what  it 
is." 

11 1  think  I  can." 

"  You  know  the  city  I  am  going  to.  Mark  the 
package,  General  Delivery,  and  let  me  have  it  soon. 
That's  all." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver. 

At  midnight  he  started  for  Washington.  He  gave 
a  political  reason  in  excuse  for  this  trip.  He  did  not 
expect  to  be  believed;  but  the  spy,  if  such  had  been 
sent,  had  taken  the  earlier  train  on  which  the  two 


304  DARK  HOLLOW 

ladies  had  left  for  Atlantic  City.  He  knew  every 
man  who  got  on  board  of  the  same  train  as  himself; 
and  none  of  them  were  in  league  with  Police  Head- 
quarters. 


XXVIII 

THE    FIRST    EFFORT 

Leaves  from  Alanson  Black's  note-book,  found  by 
Reuther  some  months  later,  in  a  very  queer  place, 
•viz.:  her  mother's  jewel-box. 

At  the  New  Willard.  Awaiting  two  articles  — 
Oliver's  picture  and  a  few  lines  in  the  judge's  writ- 
ing requesting  his  son's  immediate  return.  Mean- 
while, I  have  made  no  secret  of  my  reason  for  being 
here.  All  my  inquiries  at  the  desk  have  shown  it 
to  be  particularly  connected  with  a  certain  bill  now 
before  Congress,  in  which  Shelby  is  vitally  inter- 
ested. 

Perhaps  I  can  further  the  interests  of  this  bill  in 
off  minutes.  I  am  willing  to. 

The  picture  is  here,  as  well  as  the  name  of  the 
hotel  where  the  two  women  are  staying.  I  have 
spent  five  minutes  studying  the  face  I  must  be  able 
to  recognise  at  first  glance  in  any  crowd.  It's  not  a 
bad  face ;  I  can  see  his  mother's  looks  in  him.  But 
it  is  not  the  face  I  used  to  know.  Trouble  develops 
a  man. 

There's  a  fellow  here  who  rouses  my  suspicions. 
No  one  knows  him ;  —  I  don't  myself.  But  he's 

305 


306  DARK  HOLLOW 

strangely  interested  in  me.  If  he's  from  Shelby  — 
in  other  words,  if  he's  from  the  detective  bureau 
there,  I've  led  him  a  chase  to-day  which  must  have 
greatly  bewildered  him.  I'm  not  slow,  and  I'm  not 
above  mixing  things.  From  the  Cairo  where  our 
present  congressman  lives,  I  went  to  the  Treasury, 
then  to  the  White  House,  and  then  to  the  Smith- 
sonian—  with  a  few  newspaper  offices  thrown  in, 
and  some  hotels  where  I  took  pains  that  my  inter- 
views should  not  be  too  brief.  When  quite  satisfied 
that  by  these  various  and  somewhat  confusing 
peregrinations  I  had  thrown  off  any  possible  shad- 
ower,  I  fetched  up  at  the  Library  where  I  lunched. 
Then,  as  I  thought  the  time  had  come  for  me  to 
enjoy  myself,  I  took  a  walk  about  the  great  build- 
ing, ending  up  with  the  reading-room.  Here  I 
asked  for  a  book  on  a  certain  abstruse  subject.  Of 
course,  it  was  not  in  my  line,  but  I  looked  wise  and 
spoke  the  name  glibly.  When  I  sat  down  to  con- 
sult it,  the  man  who  brought  it  threw  me  a  short 
glance  which  I  chose  to  think  peculiar.  "  You  don't 
have  many  readers  for  this  volume  ?  "  I  ventured. 
He  smiled  and  answered,  "  Just  sent  it  back  to  the 
shelves.  It's  had  a  steady  reader  for  ten  days.  Be- 
fore that,  nobody."  "  Is  this  your  steady  reader?  " 
I  asked,  showing  him  the  photograph  I  drew  from 
my  pocket.  He  stared,  but  said  nothing.  He  did 
not  have  to.  In  a  state  of  strange  satisfaction  I 
opened  the  book.  It  was  Greek,  if  not  worse,  to 
me,  but  I  meant  to  read  a  few  paragraphs  for  the 
sake  of  appearances,  and  was  turning  over  the  pages 


THE  FIRST  EFFORT  307 

in  search  of  a  promising  chapter,  when  —  Talk  of 
remarkable  happenings !  —  there  in  the  middle  of 
the  book  was  a  card, —  his  card !  —  left  as  a  marker, 
no  doubt,  and  on  this  card,  an  address  hastily  scrib- 
bled in  lead  pencil.  It  only  remained  for  me  to 
find  that  the  hotel  designated  in  this  address  was  a 
Washington  one,  for  me  to  recognise  in  this  simple 
but  strangely  opportune  occurrence,  a  coincidence  — 
or,  as  you  would  say, —  an  act  of  Providence  as 
startling  as  those  we  read  of  in  books. 

The  first  man  I  accosted  in  regard  to  the  location 
of  this  hotel  said  there  was  none  of  that  name  in 
Washington.  The  next,  that  he  thought  there  was, 
but  that  he  could  not  tell  me  where  to  look  for  it. 
The  third,  that  I  was  within  ten  blocks  of  its  doors. 
Did  I  walk?  No,  I  took  a  taxi.  I  thought  of  your 
impatience  and  became  impatient  too.  But  when 
I  got  there,  I  stopped  hurrying.  I  waited  a  full 
half-hour  in  the  lobby  to  be  sure  that  I  had  not  been 
followed  before  I  approached  the  desk  and  asked 
to  see  Mr.  Ostrander.  No  such  person  was  in  the 
hotel  or  had  been.  Then  I  brought  out  my  photo- 
graph. The  face  was  recognised,  but  not  as  that 
of  a  guest.  This  seemed  a  puzzle.  But  after  think- 
ing it  over  for  awhile,  I  came  to  this  conclusion: 
that  the  address  I  saw  written  on  the  card  was  not 
his  own,  but  that  of  some  friend  he  had  casually 
met. 

This  put  me  in  a  quandary.  The  house  was  full 
of  young  men;  how  pick  out  the  friend?  Be- 


308  DARK  HOLLOW 

sides,  this  friend  was  undoubtedly  a  transient  and 
gone  long  ago.  My  hopes  seemed  likely  to  end  in 
smoke  —  my  great  coincidence  to  prove  valueless. 
I  was  so  convinced  of  this,  that  I  started  to  go ;  then 
I  remembered  you,  and  remained.  I  even  took  a 
room,  registering  myself  for  the  second  time  that 
day, —  which  formality  over,  I  sat  down  in  the 
office  to  write  letters. 

Oliver  Ostrander  is  in  Washington.  That's 
something. 

I  cannot  sleep.  Indeed,  I  may  say  that  this  is 
the  first  time  in  my  life  when  I  failed  to  lose  my 
cares  the  moment  my  head  struck  the  pillow. 

The  cause  I  will  now  relate. 

I  had  finished  and  mailed  my  letter  to  you  and 
was  just  in  the  act  of  sealing  another,  when  I  heard 
a  loud  salutation  uttered  behind  me,  and  turning, 
was  witness  to  the  meeting  of  two  young  men  who 
had  run  upon  each  other  in  the  open  doorway.  The 
one  going  out  was  a  stranger  to  me  and  I  hardly 
noticed  him,  but  the  one  coming  in  was  Oliver  Os- 
trander (or  his  photograph  greatly  belied  him),  and 
in  my  joy  at  an  encounter  so  greatly  desired  but  so 
entirely  unhoped  for,  I  was  on  the  point  of  rising 
to  intercept  him,  when  some  instinct  of  precaution 
led  me  to  glance  about  me  first  for  the  individual 
who  had  shown  such  a  persistent  interest  in  me  from 
the  moment  of  my  arrival.  There  he  sat,  not  a 
dozen  chairs  away,  ostensibly  reading,  but  with  a 
quick  eye  ready  for  me  the  instant  I  gave  him  the 


THE  FIRST  EFFORT  309 

slightest  chance :  —  a  detective,  as  certainly  as  I  was 
Black,  the  lawyer. 

What  was  I  to  do?  The  boy  was  leaving  town 
—  was  even  then  on  his  way  to  the  station  as  his 
whole  appearance  and  such  words  as  he  let  fall  amply 
denoted.  If  I  let  him  go,  would  another  such 
chance  of  delivering  his  father's  message  be  given 
me?  Should  I  not  lose  him  altogether;  while  if  I 
approached  him  or  betrayed  in  any  way  my  interest 
in  him,  the  detective  would  recognise  his  prey  and, 
if  he  did  not  arrest  him  on  the  spot,  would  never 
allow  him  to  return  to  Shelby  unattended.  This 
would  be  to  defeat  the  object  of  my  journey,  and  re- 
calling the  judge's  expression  at  parting,  I  dared 
not  hesitate.  My  eyes  returned  with  seeming  un- 
concern to  the  letter  I  was  holding  and  the  detec- 
tive's to  his  paper.  When  we  both  looked  up  again 
the  two  young  men  had  quit  the  building  and  the 
business  which  had  brought  me  to  Washington  was 
at  an  end. 

But  I  am  far  from  being  discouraged.  A  fresh 
start  with  the  prospect  of  Reuther's  companionship, 
inspires  me  with  more  hope  for  my  next  venture. 


xxix 


A  NIGHT  of  stars,  seen  through  swaying  tree-tops 
whose  leaves  crisping  to  their  fall,  murmured  gently 
of  vanished  hopes  and  approaching  death. 

Below,  a  long,  low  building  with  a  lighted  window 
here  and  there,  surrounded  by  a  heavy  growth  of 
trees  which  are  but  the  earnest  of  the  illimitable 
stretch  of  the  Adirondack  woods  which  painted  dark- 
ness on  the  encircling  horizon. 

In  the  air,  one  other  sound  beside  the  restless 
murmur  I  have  mentioned, —  the  lap,  lap  of  the  lake 
whose  waters  bathed  the  bank  which  supported  this 
building. 

Such  the  scene  without. 

Within,  Reuther  seated  in  the  glow  of  a  hospitable 
fire  of  great  logs,  talking  earnestly  to  Mr.  Black. 
As  they  were  placed,  he  could  see  her  much  better 
than  she  could  see  him,  his  back  being  to  the  blaze 
and  she,  in  its  direct  glare. 

He  could,  therefore,  study  her  features,  without 
offence,  and  this  he  did,  steadily  and  with  deep  in- 
terest, all  the  while  she  was  talking.  He  was  look- 
ing for  signs  of  physical  weakness  or  fatigue;  but  he 
found  none.  The  pallor  of  her  features  was  a  nat- 
ural pallor,  and  in  their  expression,  new  forces  were 
310 


"BUT  ONE  THING  TO  DO"       311 

becoming  apparent,  which  give  him  encouragement, 
rather  than  anxiety,  for  the  adventure  whose  most 
trying  events  lay  still  before  them. 

Crouching  low  on  the  hearth  could  be  seen  the  di- 
minutive figure  of  Miss  Weeks.  She  had  no  time 
to  waste  even  in  a  solitude  as  remote  as  this,  and 
was  crocheting  busily  by  the  firelight.  Her  earnest- 
ness gave  character  to  her  features  which  sometimes 
lacked  significance.  Reuther  loved  to  glance  at  her 
from  time  to  time,  as  she  continued  her  conversation 
with  Mr.  Black. 

This  is  what  she  was  saying: 

"  I  cannot  point  to  any  one  man  of  the  many  who 
have  been  about  us  ever  since  we  started  north.  But 
that  we  have  been  watched  and  our  route  followed, 
I  feel  quite  convinced.  So  does  Miss  Weeks.  But, 
as  you  saw,  no  one  besides  ourselves  left  the  cars  at 
this  station,  and  I  am  beginning  to  hope  that  we 
shall  remain  unmolested  till  we  can  take  the  trip 
to  Tempest  Lodge.  How  far  is  it,  Mr.  Black?  " 

"  Twenty-five  miles  and  over  a  very  rough  moun- 
tain road.  Did  I  not  confidently  expect  to  find  Oli- 
ver there,  I  should  not  let  you  undertake  this  ride. 
But  the  inquiries  I  have  just  made  lead  me  to  hope 
for  the  best  results.  I  was  told  that  yesterday  a 
young  man  bound  for  Tempest  Lodge,  stopped  to 
buy  a  large  basket  of  supplies  at  the  village  below 
us.  I  could  not  learn  his  name  and  I  saw  no  one 
who  could  describe  him;  but  the  fact  that  any  one 
not  born  in  these  parts  should  choose  to  isolate  him- 
self so  late  in  the  year  as  this,  in  a  place  considered 


312  DARK  HOLLOW 

inaccessible  after  the  snow  flies,  has  roused  much 
comment." 

"That  looks  as  if  —  as  if — " 

"As  if  it  were  Oliver.  So  it  does;  and  if  you 
feel  that  you  can  ride  so  far,  I  will  see  that  horses 
are  saddled  for  us  at  an  early  hour  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

"  I  can  ride,  but  will  Oliver  be  pleased  to  see  us 
at  Tempest  Lodge.  Mr.  Black,  I  had  an  experi- 
ence in  Utica  which  makes  it  very  hard  for  me  to 
contemplate  obtruding  myself  upon  him  without  some 
show  of  permission  on  his  part.  We  met  —  that  is, 
I  saw  him  and  he  saw  me;  but  he  gave  me  no  oppor- 
tunity —  that  is,  he  did  not  do  what  he  might  have 
done,  had  he  felt  —  had  he  thought  it  best  to  ex- 
change a  word  with  me." 

"Where  was  this?  You  were  not  long  in 
Utica?" 

"  Only  one  night.  But  that  was  long  enough  for 
me  to  take  a  walk  down  one  of  the  principal  thor- 
oughfares and  it  was  during  this  walk  I  saw  him. 
He  was  on  the  same  side  of  the  street  as  myself  and 
rapidly  coming  my  way,  but  on  his  eye  meeting  mine 
—  I  could  not  mistake  that  unconscious  flash  of  rec- 
ognition —  he  wheeled  suddenly  aside  into  a  cross- 
street  where  I  dared  not  follow  him.  Of  course,  he 
did  not  know  what  hung  on  even  a  momentary  inter- 
view. That  it  was  not  for  myself  I  — "  The  fire- 
light caught  something  new  to  shine  upon  —  a  tear 
on  lashes  which  yet  refused  to  lower  themselves. 


"BUT  ONE  THING  TO  DO"        313 

Mr.  Black  fidgeted,  then  put  out  his  hand  and  laid 
it  softly  on  hers. 

"Never  mind,"  he  grumbled;  "men  are — "  he 
didn't  say  what;  but  it  wasn't  anything  very  compli- 
mentary. "  You  have  this  comfort,"  said  he:  "  the 
man  at  the  Lodge  is  undoubtedly  Oliver.  Had  he 
gone  West,  he  wouldn't  have  been  seen  in  Utica 
three  days  ago." 

"  I  have  never  had  any  doubt  about  that.  I  ex- 
pect to  see  him  to-morrow,  but  I  shall  find  it  hard 
to  utter  my  errand  quick  enough.  There  will  be  a 
minute  when  he  may  misunderstand  me.  I  dread 
that  minute." 

"  Perhaps,  you  can  avoid  it.  Perhaps  after  you 
have  positively  identified  him  I  can  do  the  rest.  We 
will  arrange  it  so,  if  we  can." 

Her  eyes  flashed  gratitude,  then  took  on  a  new 
expression.  She  had  chanced  to  glance  again  at 
Miss  Weeks,  and  Miss  Weeks  was  not  looking  quite 
natural.  She  was  still  crocheting,  or  trying  to,  but 
her  attitude  was  constrained  and  her  gaze  fixed; 
and  that  gaze  was  not  on  her  work,  but  directed  to- 
wards a  small  object  at  her  side,  which  Reuther  rec- 
ognised from  its  open  lid  to  be  the  little  lady's  work- 
box. 

"  Something  is  the  matter  with  Miss  Weeks,"  she 
confided  in  a  low  whisper  to  Mr.  Black.  "  Don't 
turn;  she's  going  to  speak." 

But  Miss  Weeks  did  not  speak.  She  just  got  up, 
and,  with  a  careless  motion,  stood  stretching  herself 


314  DARK  HOLLOW 

for  a  moment,  then  sauntered  up  to  the  table  and 
began  showing  her  work  to  Reuther. 

"  I've  made  a  mistake,"  she  pettishly  complained. 
"  See  if  you  can  find  out  what's  wrong."  And,  giv- 
ing the  work  into  Reuther's  hand,  she  stood  watch- 
ing, but  with  a  face  so  pale  that  Mr.  Black  was  not 
astonished  when  she  suddenly  muttered  in  a  very 
low  tone: 

"  Don't  move  or  show  surprise.  The  shade  of 
the  window  is  up,  and  somebody  is  looking  in  from 
outside.  I  saw  his  face  reflected  in  the  mirror  of 
my  work-box.  It  isn't  any  one  I  know,  but  he  was 
looking  very  fixedly  this  way  and  may  be  looking 
yet.  Now  I  am  going  to  snatch  my  work.  I  don't 
think  you're  helping  me  one  bit." 

She  suited  the  action  to  the  word;  shook  her  head 
at  Reuther  and  went  back  to  her  old  position  on  the 
hearth. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  it,"  murmured  Reuther.  "  If 
we  take  the  ride  to-morrow,  it  will  not  be  alone. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  delay  our  trip,  we  may  be 
forestalled  in  the  errand  upon  which  so  much  de- 
pends. We  are  not  the  only  ones  who  have  heard 
of  the  strange  young  man  at  Tempest  Lodge." 

The  answer  came  with  quick  decision.  "  There 
is  but  one  thing  for  us  to  do.  I  will  tell  you  what 
it  is  a  little  later.  Go  and  sit  on  the  hearth  with 
Miss  Weeks,  and  mind  that  you  laugh  and  chat  as 
if  your  minds  were  quite  undisturbed.  I  am  going 
to  have  a  talk  with  our  host." 


XXX 

TEMPEST   LODGE 

"WHAT'S  that?" 

"  That's  the  cry  of  a  loon." 

"  How  awful  1     Do  they  often  cry  like  that?  " 

"  Not  often  in  the  nighttime." 

Reuther  shuddered. 

Mr.  Black  regarded  her  anxiously.  Had  he  done 
wrong  to  let  her  join  him  in  this  strange  ride? 

"  Shall  we  go  back  and  wait  for  broad  daylight?  " 
he  asked. 

"  No,  no.  I  could  not  bear  the  suspense  of  won- 
dering whether  all  was  going  well  and  the  oppor- 
tunity being  given  you  of  seeing  and  speaking  to 
him.  We  have  taken  such  precautions  —  chosen  so 
late  (or  should  I  say  so  early)  a  start  —  that  I'm 
sure  we  have  outwitted  the  man  who  is  so  watchful 
of  us.  But  if  we  go  back,  we  cannot  slip  away  from 
him  again;  and  Oliver  will  have  to  submit  to  an 
humiliation  it  is  our  duty  to  spare  him.  And  the 
good  judge,  too.  I  don't  care  if  the  loons  do  cry; 
the  night  is  beautiful." 

And  it  was,  had  their  hearts  been  in  tune  to  en- 
joy it.  A  gibbous  moon  had  risen,  and,  inefficient 
as  it  was  to  light  up  the  recesses  of  the  forest,  it  il- 
lumined the  tree-tops  and  brought  out  the  difference 
between  earth  and  sky.  The  road,  known  to  the 
315 


3i6  DARK  HOLLOW 

horses,  if  not  to  themselves,  extended  like  a  black 
ribbon  under  their  eyes,  but  the  patches  of  light  which 
fell  across  it  at  intervals  took  from  it  the  uninter- 
rupted gloom  it  must  have  otherwise  had.  Mr. 
Sloan,  who  was  at  once  their  guide  and  host,  prom- 
ised that  dawn  would  be  upon  them  before  they 
reached  the  huge  gully  which  was  the  one  dangerous 
feature  of  the  road.  But  as  yet  there  were  no  signs 
of  dawn;  and  to  Reuther,  as  well  as  to  Mr.  Black, 
this  ride  through  the  heart  of  a  wilderness  in  a 
darkness  which  might  have  been  that  of  midnight 
by  any  other  measure  than  that  of  the  clock,  had 
the  effect  of  a  dream  in  which  one  is  only  suffi- 
ciently in  touch  with  past  commonplaces  to  say, 
"  This  is  a  dream  and  not  reality.  I  shall  soon 
wake."  A  night  to  remember  to  the  end  of  one's 
days;  an  experience  which  did  not  seem  real  at  the 
time  and  was  never  looked  back  upon  as  real  —  and 
yet,  one  with  which  neither  of  them  would  have  been 
willing  to  part. 

Their  guide  had  prophesied  truly.  Heralded  by 
that  long  cry  of  the  loon,  the  dawn  began  to  reveal 
itself  in  clearness  of  perspective  and  a  certain  in- 
definable stir  in  the  still,  shrouded  spaces  of  the 
woods.  Details  began  to  appear  where  heretofore 
all  had  been  mass.  Pearl  tints  proclaimed  the  east, 
and  presently  these  were  replaced  by  a  flush  of  deli- 
cate colour  deepening  into  rose,  and  the  every-day 
world  of  the  mighty  forest  was  upon  them  with  its 
night  mystery  gone. 

But  not  the  romance  of  their  errand,  or  the  anxiety 


TEMPEST  LODGE  317 

which  both  felt  as  to  its  ultimate  fulfilment.  This 
it  had  been  easier  to  face  when  they  themselves  as 
well  as  all  about  them,  were  but  moving  shadows 
in  each  other's  eyes.  Full  sight  brought  full  realisa- 
tion. However  they  might  seek  to  cloak  the  fact, 
they  could  no  longer  disguise  from  themselves  that 
the  object  of  their  journey  might  not  be  acceptable 
to  the  man  in  hiding  at  Tempest  Lodge.  Reuther's 
faith  in  him  was  strong,  but  even  her  courage  fal- 
tered as  she  thought  of  the  disgrace  awaiting  him 
whatever  the  circumstances  or  however  he  might 
look  upon  his  father's  imperative  command  to  re- 
turn. 

But  she  did  not  draw  rein,  and  the  three  con- 
tinued to  ride  up  and  on.  Suddenly,  however,  one 
of  them  showed  disturbance.  Mr.  Sloan  was  seen 
to  turn  his  head  sharply,  and  in  another  moment  his 
two  companions  heard  him  say: 

"  We  are  followed.  Ride  on  and  leave  me  to 
take  a  look." 

Instinctively  they  also  glanced  back  before  obey- 
ing. They  were  just  rounding  the  top  of  an  abrupt 
hill,  and  expected  to  have  an  uninterrupted  view  of 
the  road  behind.  But  the  masses  of  foliage  were  as 
yet  too  thick  for  them  to  see  much  but  the  autumnal 
red  and  yellow  spread  out  below  them. 

"  I  hear  them ;  I  do  not  see  them,"  remarked  their 
guide.  "  Two  horses  are  approaching." 

"  How  far  are  we  now  from  the  Lodge?  " 

"  A  half-hour's  ride.  We  are  just  at  the  opening 
of  the  gully." 


318  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  You  will  join  us  soon?  " 

"  As  quickly  as  I  make  out  who  are  on  the  horses 
behind  us." 

Reuther  and  the  lawyer  rode  on.  Her  cheeks  had 
gained  a  slight  flush,  but  otherwise  she  looked  un- 
moved. He  was  less  at  ease  than  she;  for  he  had 
less  to  sustain  him. 

The  gully,  when  they  came  to  it,  proved  to  be 
a  formidable  one.  It  was  not  only  deep  but  pre- 
cipitous, descending  with  the  sheerness  of  a  wall  di- 
rectly down  from  the  road  into  a  basin  of  enormous 
size,  where  trees  stood  here  and  there  in  solitary 
majesty,  amid  an  area  of  rock  forbidding  to  the  eye 
and  suggestive  of  sudden  and  impassable  chasms. 
It  was  like  circumambulating  the  sinuous  verge  of  a 
canyon;  and  for  the  two  miles  they  rode  along  its 
edge  they  saw  no  let-up  in  the  steepness  on  one  side 
or  of  the  almost  equally  abrupt  rise  of  towering  rock 
on  the  other.  It  was  Reuther's  first  experience  of 
so  precipitous  a  climb,  and  under  other  circumstances 
she  might  have  been  timid;  but  in  her  present  heroic 
mood,  it  was  all  a  part  of  her  great  adventure,  and 
as  such,  accepted. 

The  lawyer  eyed  her  with  growing  admiration. 
He  had  not  miscalculated  her  pluck. 

As  they  were  making  a  turn  to  gain  the  summit, 
they  heard  Mr.  Sloan's  voice  behind  them.  Draw- 
ing in  their  horses,  they  greeted  him  eagerly  when  he 
appeared. 

"  Were  you  right?     Are  we  followed?  " 

"  That's  as  may  be.     I  didn't  hear  or  see  any- 


TEMPEST  LODGE  319 

thing  more.  I  waited,  but  nothing  happened,  so  I 
came  on." 

His  words  were  surly  and  his  looks  sour;  they, 
therefore,  forebore  to  question  him  further,  espe- 
cially as  their  keenest  interest  lay  ahead,  rather  than 
behind  them.  They  were  nearing  Tempest  Lodge. 
As  it  broke  upon  their  view,  perched  like  an  eagle's 
eyrie  on  the  crest  of  a  rising  peak,  they  drew  rein, 
and,  after  a  short  consultation,  Mr.  Sloan  wended 
his  way  up  alone.  He  was  a  well-known  man 
throughout  the  whole  region,  and  would  be  likely  to 
gain  admittance  if  any  one  could.  But  all  wished 
the  hour  had  been  less  early. 

However,  somebody  was  up  in  the  picturesque 
place.  A  small  trail  of  smoke  could  be  seen  hover- 
ing above  its  single  chimney,  and  promptly  upon  Mr. 
Sloan's  approach,  a  rear  door  swung  back  and  an  old 
man  showed  himself,  but  with  no  hospitable  intent. 
On  the  contrary,  he  motioned  the  intruder  back,  and 
shouting  out  some  very  decided  words,  resolutely 
banged  the  door  shut. 

Mr.  Sloan  turned  slowly  about. 

"  Bad  luck,"  he  commented,  upon  joining  his  com- 
panions. "  That  was  Deaf  Dan.  He's  got  a  warm 
nest  here,  and  he's  determined  to  keep  it.  '  No  vis- 
itors wanted,'  was  what  he  shouted,  and  he  didn't 
even  hold  out  his  hand  when  I  offered  him  the  let- 
ter." 

"  Give  me  the  letter,"  said  Reuther.  "  He  won't 
leave  a  lady  standing  out  in  the  cold." 

Mr.  Sloan  handed  over  the  judge's  message,  and 


320  DARK  HOLLOW 

helped  her  down,  and  she  in  turn  began  to  approach 
the  place.  As  she  did  so,  she  eyed  it  with  the  curi- 
osity of  a  hungry  heart.  It  was  a  compact  struc- 
ture of  closely  cemented  stone,  built  to  resist  gales 
and  harbour  a  would-be  recluse,  even  in  an  Adiron- 
dack winter.  One  end  showed  stacks  of  wood 
through  its  heavily  glazed  windows,  and  between  the 
small  stable  and  the  west  door  there  ran  a  covered 
way  which  insured  communication,  even  when  the 
snow  lay  high  about  the  windows. 

The  place  had  a  history  which  she  learned  later. 
At  present  all  her  thoughts  were  on  its  possible  oc- 
cupant and  the  very  serious  question  of  whether  she 
would  or  would  not  gain  admittance  to  him. 

Mr.  Sloan  had  been  repulsed  from  the  west  door; 
she  would  try  the  east.  Oliver  (if  Oliver  it  were) 
was  probably  asleep;  but  she  would  knock,  and 
knock,  and  knock;  and  if  Deaf  Dan  did  not  open, 
his  master  soon  would. 

But  when  she  found  herself  in  face  of  this  simple 
barrier,  her  emotion  was  so  strong  that  she  recoiled 
in  spite  of  herself,  and  turned  her  face  about  as  if 
to  seek  strength  from  the  magnificence  of  the  outlook. 

But  though  the  scene  was  one  of  splendour  in- 
conceivable, she  did  not  see  it.  Her  visions  were 
all  inner  ones.  But  these  were  not  without  their 
strengthening  power,  as  was  soon  shown.  For  pres- 
ently she  turned  back  and  was  lifting  her  hand  to 
the  door,  when  it  suddenly  flew  open  and  a  man  ap- 
peared before  her. 


TEMPEST  LODGE  321 

It  was  Oliver.  Oliver  unkempt  and  with  signs 
upon  him  of  a  night's  work  of  study  or  writing;  but 
Oliver !  —  her  lover  once,  but  now  just  a  stranger 
into  whose  hand  she  must  put  this  letter. 

She  tried  to  stammer  out  her  errand ;  but  the  sud- 
den pallor,  the  starting  eyes  —  the  whole  shocked, 
almost  terrified  appearance  of  the  man  she  was  fac- 
ing, stopped  her.  She  forgot  the  surprise,  the  in- 
credulity of  mind  with  which  he  would  naturally 
hail  her  presence  at  his  door  in  a  place  so  re- 
mote and  of  such  inaccessibility.  She  only  saw  that 
his  hands  had  gone  up  and  out  at  sight  of  her,  and 
to  her  sensitive  soul,  this  looked  like  a  rebuff  which, 
while  expected,  choked  back  her  words  and  turned 
her  faintly  flushing  cheek  scarlet. 

"  It  is  not  I,"  burst  from  her  lips  in  incoherent 
disclaimer  of  his  possible  thought.  "  I'm  just  a 
messenger.  Your  father  — " 

"  It  is  you  1  "  Quickly  his  hands  passed  across 
his  eyes.  "  How  — "  Then  his  glance,  following 
hers,  fell  on  the  letter  which  she  now  remembered 
to  hold  out. 

"  It's  the  copy  of  a  telegram,"  she  tremblingly 
explained,  as  he  continued  to  gaze  at  it  without 
reaching  to  take  it.  "  You  could  not  be  found  in 
Detroit  and  as  it  was  important  that  you  should  re- 
ceive this  word  from  your  father,  I  undertook  to 
deliver  it.  I  remembered  your  fondness  for  this 
place  and  how  you  once  said  that  this  is  where  you 
would  like  to  write  your  book,  and  so  I  came  on  a 


322  DARK  HOLLOW 

venture  —  but  not  alone  —  Mr.  Black  is  with  me 
and  — " 

"Mr.  Black!  Who?  What?"  He  was  still 
staring  at  his  father's  letter;  and  still  had  made  no 
offer  to  take  it. 

"  Read  this  first,"  said  she. 

Then  he  woke  to  the  situation.  He  took  the  let- 
ter, and  drawing  her  inside,  shut  the  door  while  he 
read  it.  She,  trembling  very  much,  did  not  dare  to 
lift  her  eyes  to  watch  its  effect,  but  she  was  conscious 
that  his  back  and  not  his  face  was  turned  her  way, 
and  that  the  moment  was  the  stillest  one  of  her  whole 
life. 

Then  there  came  a  rattling  noise  as  he  crushed 
the  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  Tell  me  what  this  means,"  said  he,  but  he  did 
not  turn  his  head  as  he  made  this  request. 

"  Your  father  must  do  that,"  was  her  gentle  re- 
ply. "  I  was  only  to  deliver  the  letter.  I  came  — 
we  came  —  thus  early,  because  we  thought  —  we 
feared  we  should  get  no  opportunity  later  to  find 
you  here  alone.  There  seem  to  be  people  on  the 
road  —  whom  —  whom  you  might  feel  obliged  to 
entertain  and  as  your  father  cannot  wait  — " 

He  had  wheeled  about.  His  face  confronted  hers. 
It  wore  a  look  she  did  not  understand  and  which 
made  him  seem  a  stranger  to  her.  Involuntarily 
she  took  a  step  back. 

"  I  must  be  going  now,"  said  she,  and  fell  —  her 
physical  weakness  triumphing  at  last  over  her  will 
power. 


XXXI 

ESCAPE 

"  OLIVER?     Where  is  Oliver?  " 

These  were  Reuther's  first  words,  as,  coming  to 
herself,  she  perceived  Mr.  Black  bending  helplessly 
over  her. 

The  answer  was  brief,  almost  indifferent.  Alan- 
son  Black  was  cursing  himself  for  allowing  her  to 
come  to  this  house  alone.  « 

"  He  was  here  a  moment  ago.  When  he  saw  you 
begin  to  give  signs  of  life,  he  slid  out.  How  do  you 
feel,  my  —  my  dear  ?  What  will  your  mother  say  ?  " 

"But  Oliver?"  She  was  on  her  feet  now;  she 
had  been  lying  on  some  sort  of  couch.  "  He  must 
—  Oh,  I  remember  now.  Mr.  Black,  we  must  go. 
I  have  given  him  his  father's  letter." 

"  We  are  not  going  till  you  have  something  to 
eat.  Not  a  word.  I'll  — "  Why  did  his  eye  wan- 
der to  the  nearest  window,  and  his  words  trail  away 
into  silence? 

Reuther  turned  about  to  see.  Oliver  was  in  front, 
conversing  earnestly  with  Mr.  Sloan.  As  they 
looked,  he  dashed  back  into  the  rear  of  the  house, 
and  they  heard  his  voice  rise  once  or  twice  in  some 
ineffectual  commands  to  his  deaf  servant,  then  there 
came  a  clatter  and  a  rush  from  the  direction  of  the 
stable,  and  they  saw  him  flash  by  on  a  gaunt  but  fiery 
horse,  and  take  with  long  bounds  the  road  up  which 
323 


324  DARK  HOLLOW 

they  had  just  laboured.  He  had  stopped  to  equip 
himself  in  some  measure  for  this  ride,  but  not  the 
horse,  which  was  without  saddle  or  any  sort  of  bridle 
but  a  halter  strung  about  his  neck. 

This  was  flight;  or  so  it  appeared  to  Mr.  Sloan, 
as  he  watched  the  young  man  disappear  over  the 
brow  of  the  hill.  What  Mr.  Black  thought  was  not 
so  apparent.  He  had  no  wish  to  discourage  Reuther 
whose  feeling  was  one  of  relief  as  her  first  word 
showed. 

"  Oliver  is  gone.  We  shall  not  have  to  hurry 
now  and  perhaps  if  I  had  a  few  minutes  in  which  to 
rest—" 

She  was  on  the  verge  of  fainting  again. 

And  then  Alanson  Black  showed  of  what  stuff  he 
was  made.  In  ten  minutes  he  had  bustled  about  the 
half-deserted  building,  and  with  the  aid  of  the  dazed 
and  uncomprehending  deaf-mute,  managed  to  pre- 
pare a  cup  of  hot  tea  and  a  plate  of  steaming  eggs 
for  the  weary  girl. 

After  such  an  effort,  Reuther  felt  obliged  to  eat, 
and  she  did;  seeing  which,  the  lawyer  left  her  for  a 
moment  and  went  out  to  interview  their  guide. 

"  Where's  the  young  lady?  " 

This  from  Mr.  Sloan. 

"Eating  something.  Come  in  and  have  a  bite; 
and  let  the  horses  eat,  too.  She  must  have  a  rest. 
The  young  fellow  went  off  pretty  quick,  eh  ?  " 

"  Ya-as."  The  drawl  was  one  of  doubt.  "  But 
quickness  don't  count.  Fast  or  slow,  he's  on  his  way 
to  capture  —  if  that's  what  you  want  to  know." 


ESCAPE  325 

"  What?     We  are  followed  then?  " 

"  There  are  men  on  the  road;  two,  as  I  told  you 
before.  He  can't  get  by  them  —  if  that's  what  he 
wants  to  do." 

"  But  I  thought  they  fell  back.  We  didn't  hear 
them  after  you  joined  us." 

"  No ;  they  didn't  come  on.  They  didn't  have 
to.  This  is  the  only  road  down  the  mountain,  and 
it's  one  you've  got  to  follow  or  go  tumbling  over  the 
precipice.  All  they've  got  to  do  is  to  wait  for 
him;  and  that's  what  I  tried  to  tell  him,  but  he  just 
shook  his  arm  at  me  and  rode  on.  He  might  better 
have  waited  —  for  company." 

Mr.  Black  cast  a  glance  behind  him,  saw  that  the 
door  of  the  house  was  almost  closed  and  ventured 
to  put  another  question. 

"  What  did  he  ask  you  when  he  came  out  here?  " 

"  Why  we  had  chosen  such  an  early  hour  to  bring 
him  his  father's  message." 

"  And  what  did  you  say?  " 

"  Wa'al,  I  said  that  there  was  another  fellow 
down  my  way  awful  eager  to  see  him,  too ;  and  that 
you  were  mortal  anxious  to  get  to  him  first.  That 
was  about  it,  wasn't  it,  sir?  " 

"  Yes.     And  how  did  he  take  that?  " 

"  He  turned  white,  and  asked  me  just  what  I 
meant.  Then  I  said  that  some  one  wanted  him  pretty 
bad,  for,  early  as  it  was,  this  stranger  was  up  as  soon 
as  you,  and  had  followed  us  into  the  mountains  and 
might  show  up  any  time  on  the  road.  At  which  he 
gave  me  a  stare,  then  plunged  back  into  the  house  to 


326  DARK  HOLLOW 

get  his  hat  and  trot  out  his  horse.  I  never  saw 
quicker  work.  But  it's  no  use ;  he  can't  escape  those 
men.  They  know  it,  or  they  wouldn't  have  stopped 
where  they  did,  waiting  for  him." 

Mr.  Black  recalled  the  aspect  of  the  gully,  and 
decided  that  Mr.  Sloan  was  right.  There  could  be 
but  one  end  to  this  adventure.  Oliver  would  be 
caught  in  a  manifest  effort  to  escape,  and  the  judge's 
cup  of  sorrow  and  humiliation  would  be  full.  He 
felt  the  shame  of  it  himself;  also  the  folly  of  his 
own  methods  and  of  the  part  he  had  allowed  Reuther 
to  play.  Beckoning  to  his  host  to  follow  him,  he 
turned  towards  the  house. 

"  Don't  mention  your  fears  to  the  young  lady," 
said  he.  "At  least,  not  till  we  are  well  past  the 
gully." 

"  I  shan't  mention  anything.  Don't  you  be 
afeared  of  that." 

And  with  a  simultaneous  effort  difficult  for  both, 
they  assumed  a  more  cheerful  air,  and  briskly  en- 
tered the  house. 

It  was  not  until  they  were  well  upon  the  road  back 
that  Reuther  ventured  to  speak  of  Oliver.  She  was 
riding  as  far  from  the  edge  of  the  precipice  as  possi- 
ble. In  descent  it  looked  very  formidable  to  her 
unaccustomed  eye. 

"  This  is  a  dangerous  road  for  a  man  to  ride 
bareback,"  she  remarked.  "  I'm  terrified  when  I 
think  of  it,  Mr.  Black.  Why  did  he  go  off  quite  so 
suddenly?  Is  there  a  train  he  is  anxious  to  reach? 
Mr.  Sloan,  is  there  a  train?" 


ESCAPE  327 

"  Yes,  Miss,  there  is  a  train." 

"  Which  he  can  get  by  riding  fast?  " 

"  I've  known  it  done !  " 

"  Then  he  is  excusable."  Yet  her  anxious  glance 
stole  ever  and  again  to  the  dizzy  verge  towards 
which  she  now  unconsciously  urged  her  own  horse 
till  Mr.  Black  drew  her  aside. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  fear  in  that  direction,"  said 
he.  "  Oliver's  horse  is  to  be  trusted,  if  not  him- 
self. Cheer  up,  little  one,  we'll  soon  be  on  more 
level  ground  and  then  for  a  quick  ride  and  a  speedy 
end  to  this  suspense." 

He  was  rewarded  by  a  confiding  look,  after  which 
they  all  fell  silent. 

A  half-hour's  further  descent,  then  a  quick  turn 
and  Mr.  Sloan,  who  had  ridden  on  before  them,  came 
galloping  hastily  back. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  admonished  them,  putting 
up  his  hand  to  emphasise  the  appeal. 

"  Oh,  what  now?"  cried  Reuther,  but  with  a  ris- 
ing head  instead  of  a  sinking  one. 

"  We  will  see,"  said  Mr.  Black,  hastening  to  meet 
their  guide.  "What  now?"  he  asked.  "Have 
they  come  together?  Have  the  detectives  got 
him?" 

"  No,  not  him;  only  his  horse.  The  animal  has 
just  trotted  up  —  riderless." 

"Good  God!  the  child's  instinct  was  true.  He 
has  been  thrown  — " 

"  No."  Mr.  Sloan's  mouth  was  close  to  the  law- 
yer's ear.  "  There  is  another  explanation.  If  the 


328  DARK  HOLLOW 

fellow  is  game,  and  anxious  enough  to  reach  the  train 
to  risk  his  neck  for  it,  there's  a  path  he  could  have 
taken  which  would  get  him  there  without  his  coming 
round  this  turn.  I  never  thought  it  a  possible  thing 
till  I  saw  his  horse  trotting  on  ahead  of  us  without 
a  rider."  Then  as  Reuther  came  ambling  up, 
"  Young  lady,  don't  let  me  scare  you,  but  it  looks 
now  as  if  the  young  man  had  taken  a  short  cut  to 
the  station,  which,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  never  been 
taken  but  by  one  man  before.  If  you  will  draw  up 
closer  —  here !  give  me  hold  of  your  bridle.  Now 
look  back  along  the  edge  of  the  precipice  for  about 
half  a  mile,  and  you  will  see  shooting  up  from  the 
gully  a  solitary  tree  whose  topmost  branch  reaches 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  road  above." 

She  looked.  They  were  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
gully  which  curved  up  and  away  from  this  point  like 
an  enormous  horseshoe.  They  could  see  the  face 
of  the  precipice  for  miles. 

"  Yes,"  she  suddenly  replied,  as  her  glance  fell 
on  the  one  red  splash  showing  against  the  dull  grey 
of  the  cliff. 

"  A  leap  from  the  road,  if  well-timed,  would  land 
a  man  among  some  very  stalwart  branches.  It's  a 
risk  and  it  takes  nerve ;  but  it  succeeded  once,  and  I 
dare  say  has  succeeded  again." 

"  But  —  but  —  if  he  didn't  reach  —  didn't 
catch—" 

"  Young  lady,  he's  a  man  in  a  thousand.  If  you 
want  the  proof,  look  over  there." 

He  was  pointing  again,  but  in  a  very  different 


ESCAPE  329 

direction  now.  As  her  anxious  eye  sought  the  place 
he  indicated,  her  face  flushed  crimson  with  evanes- 
cent joy.  Just  where  the  open  ground  of  the  gully 
melted  again  into  the  forest,  the  figure  of  a  man 
could  be  seen  moving  very  quickly.  In  another  mo- 
ment it  had  disappeared  amid  the  foliage. 

"  Straight  for  the  station,"  announced  Mr.  Sloan; 
and,  taking  out  his  watch,  added  quickly;  "  the  train 
is  not  due  for  fifteen  minutes.  He'll  catch  it." 

"The  train  south?" 

"  Yes,  and  the  train  north.     They  pass  here.1" 

Mr.  Black  turned  a  startled  eye  upon  the  guide. 
But  Reuther's  face  was  still  alight.  She  felt  very 
happy.  Their  journey  had  not  been  for  naught. 
He  would  have  six  hours'  start  of  his  pursuers;  he 
would  be  that  much  sooner  in  Shelby;  he  would  hear 
the  accusation  against  him  and  refute  it  before  she 
saw  him  again. 

But  Mr.  Black's  thoughts  were  less  pleasing  than 
hers.  He  had  never  had  more  than  a  passing  hope 
of  Oliver's  innocence,  and  now  he  had  none  at  all. 
The  young  man  had  fled,  not  in  response  to  his 
father's  telegram,  but  under  the  impulse  of  his  own 
fears.  They  would  not  find  him  in  Shelby  when  they 
returned.  They  might  never  find  him  anywhere 
again.  A  pretty  story  to  carry  back  to  the  judge. 

As  he  dwelt  upon  this  thought,  his  reflections  grew 
more  and  more  gloomy,  and  he  had  little  to  say  till 
he  reached  the  turn  where  the  two  men  still  awaited 
them. 

In  the  encounter  which  followed  no  attempt  was 


330  DARK  HOLLOW 

made  by  either  party  to  disguise  the  nature  of  the 
business  which  had  brought  them  thus  together.  The 
man  whom  Mr.  Black  took  to  be  a  Shelby  detective 
nodded  as  they  met  and  remarked,  with  a  quick 
glance  at  Reuther: 

"  So  you've  come  without  him !  I'm  sorry  for 
that.  I  was  in  hopes  that  I  might  be  spared  the  long 
ride  up  the  mountain." 

Mr.  Black  limited  his  answer  to  one  of  his  sour 
smiles. 

"Whose  horse  is  this?"  came  in  peremptory  de- 
mand from  the  other  man,  with  a  nod  towards  the 
animal  which  could  now  be  seen  idly  grazing  by  the 
wayside.  "  And  how  came  it  on  the  road  alone?  " 

"  We  can  only  give  you  these  facts,"  rejoined  the 
lawyer.  "  It  came  from  Tempest  Lodge.  It  started 
out  ahead  of  us  with  the  gentleman  we  had  gone  to 
visit  on  its  back.  We  did  not  pass  the  gentleman 
on  the  road,  and  if  he  has  not  passed  you,  he  must 
have  left  the  road  somewhere  on  foot.  He  did  not 
go  back  to  the  Lodge." 

"Mr.  Black—" 

"  I  am  telling  you  the  absolute  truth.  Make  what 
you  will  of  it.  His  father  desires  him  home;  and 
sent  a  message.  This  message  this  young  lady  un- 
dertook to  deliver,  and  she  did  deliver  it,  with  the 
consequences  I  have  mentioned.  If  you  doubt  me, 
take  your  ride.  It  is  not  an  easy  one,  and  the  only 
man  remaining  at  the  Lodge  is  deaf  as  a  post." 

"  Mr.  Black  has  told  the  whole  story,"  averred 
the  guide. 


ESCAPE  331 

They  looked  at  Reuther. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  add,"  said  she.  "  I  have 
been  terrified  lest  the  gentleman  you  wish  to  see 
was  thrown  from  the  horse's  back  over  the  preci- 
pice. But  perhaps  he  found  some  way  of  getting 
down  on  foot.  He  is  a  very  strong  and  daring 
man." 

"The  tree!"  ejaculated  the  detective's  compan- 
ion. He  was  from  a  neighbouring  locality  and  re- 
membered this  one  natural  ladder  up  the  side  of 
the  gully. 

"  Yes,  the  tree,"  acknowledged  Mr.  Sloan. 
"  That,  or  a  fall.  Let  us  hope  it  was  not  a  fall." 

As  he  ceased,  a  long  screech  from  an  approaching 
locomotive  woke  up  the  echoes  of  the  forest.  It 
was  answered  by  another  from  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. Both  trains  were  on  time.  The  relief  felt 
by  Reuther  could  not  be  concealed.  The  detective 
noticed  it. 

"  I'm  wasting  time  here,"  said  he.  "  Excuse  me, 
Mr.  Black,  if  I  push  on  ahead  of  you.  If  we  don't 
meet  at  the  station,  we  shall  meet  in  Shelby." 

Mr.  Black's  mouth  twisted  grimly.  He  had  no 
doubt  of  the  latter  fact. 

Next  minute,  they  were  all  cantering  in  the  one 
direction;  the  detective  very  much  in  the  advance. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you  to  the  station,"  entreated 
Reuther,  as  Mr.  Black  held  up  his  arms  to  lift  her 
from  her  horse  at  the  door  of  the  hotel. 

But   his    refusal   was   peremptory.     "  You   need 


332  DARK  HOLLOW 

Miss  Weeks,  and  Miss  Weeks  needs  you,"  said  he. 
"  I'll  be  back  in  just  five  minutes."  And  without 
waiting  for  a  second  pleading  look,  he  lifted  her 
gently  off  and  carried  her  in. 

When  he  returned,  as  he  did  in  the  time  speci- 
fied, he  had  but  one  word  for  her. 

"  Gone,"  said  he. 

"Thank  God!"  she  murmured  and  turned  to 
Miss  Weeks  with  a  smile. 

Not  having  a  smile  to  add  to  hers,  the  lawyer 
withdrew. 

Oliver  was  gone  —  but  gone  north. 


XXXII 

THE   VIGIL 

WHEN  Mr.  Black  came  into  Shelby,  he  came  alone. 
He  was  anxious  to  get  back;  anxious  to  face  his 
enemies  if  he  had  any;  anxious  to  see  Deborah  and 
explain.  Miss  Weeks  and  Reuther  followed  on 
more  slowly;  this  was  better  for  them  and  better 
for  him,  and  better,  too,  for  Deborah,  who  must 
hear  his  story  without  the  distraction  of  her  daugh- 
ter's presence. 

It  was  dark  when  he  stepped  on  to  the  platform, 
and  darker  still  when  he  rang  the  bell  of  Judge  Os- 
trander's  house.  But  it  was  not  late,  and  his  agi- 
tation had  but  few  minutes  in  which  to  grow,  be- 
fore the  gate  swung  wide  and  he  felt  her  hand  in 
his. 

She  was  expecting  him.  He  had  telegraphed 
the  hour  at  which  he  should  arrive,  and  also  when 
to  look  for  Reuther.  Consequently  there  was  no 
necessity  for  preliminaries,  and  he  could  ask  at  once 
for  the  judge  and  whether  he  was  strong  enough  to 
bear  disappointment. 

Deborah's  answer  was  certainly  disconcerting. 

"  I've  not  seen  him.  He  admits  nobody.  When 
I  enter  the  library,  he  retreats  to  his  bed-room.  I 
have  not  even  been  allowed  to  hand  him  his  letters. 
I  put  them  on  his  tray  when  I  carry  in  his  meals." 

"He  has  received  letters  then?" 

333 


334  DARK  HOLLOW, 

"  Unimportant  ones,  yes." 

"None   from   Oliver?" 

"  Oh,  no." 

A  pause. 

"Deborah?" 

Another  pause.  The  echo  of  that  name  so  ut- 
tered was  too  sweet  in  her  ear  for  her  to  cut  it  short 
by  too  hasty  a  reply.  When  she  did  speak,  it  was 
humbly,  or  should  I  say,  wistfully. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Black." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  never  will  hear  from  Oliver. 
The  boy  gave  us  the  slip  in  the  most  remarkable 
manner.  I  will  tell  you  when  we  get  inside." 

She  led  him  up  the  walk.  She  moved  slowly, 
and  he  felt  the  influence  of  her  discouragement. 
But  once  in  the  lighted  parlour,  she  turned  upon 
him  the  face  he  knew  best  —  the  mother  face. 

"  Did  Reuther  see  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

Then  he  told  her  the  whole  story. 

When  she  had  heard  him  through,  she  looked 
about  the  room  they  were  in,  with  a  lingering,  ab- 
stracted gaze  he  hardly  understood  till  he  saw  it 
fall  with  an  indescribable  aspect  of  sorrow  upon 
a  picture  which  had  lately  been  found  and  rehung 
upon  the  wall.  It  was  a  portrait  of  Oliver's 
mother. 

"  I  am  disappointed,"  she  murmured  in  bitter  re- 
flection to  herself.  "  I  did  not  expect  Oliver  to  clear 
himself,  but  I  did  expect  him  to  face  his  accusers 
if  only  for  his  father's  sake.  What  am  I  to  say 
now  to  the  judge?  " 


THE  VIGIL  335 

"  Nothing  to-night.  In  the  morning  we  will  talk 
the  whole  subject  over.  I  must  first  explain  my- 
self to  Andrews,  and,  if  possible,  learn  his  inten- 
tions; then  I  shall  know  better  what  to  advise." 

"  Did  the  officer  you  met  on  your  return  from 
Tempest  Lodge  follow  you  to  Shelby?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  him." 

"  That  is  bad.     He  followed  Oliver." 

"  It  was  to  be  expected." 

"Oliver  is  in  Canada?" 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  Which  means  — " 

"  Delay,  then  extradition*  It's  that  fellow  Flan- 
nagan  who  has  brought  this  upon  us.  The  wretch 
knows  something  which  forbids  us  to  hope." 

"  Alas,  yes."  And  a  silence  followed,  during 
which  such  entire  stillness  rested  upon  the  house  that 
a  similar  thought  rose  in  both  minds.  Could  it  be 
that  under  this  same  roof,  and  only  separated  from 
them  by  a  partition,  there  brooded  another  human 
being  helplessly  awaiting  a  message  which  would 
never  come,  and  listening,  but  how  vainly,  for  the 
step  and  voice  for  which  he  hungered,  though  they 
were  the  prelude  to  further  shame  and  the  signal  for 
coming  punishment. 

So  strong  was  this  thought  in  both  their  minds, 
that  the  shadow  deepened  upon  both  faces,  as  though 
a  presence  had  passed  between  them;  and  when 
Mr.  Black  rose,  as  he  very  soon  did,  it  was  with  an 
evident  dread  of  leaving  her  alone  with  this  thought. 

They  were  lingering  yet  in  the  hall,  the  good- 


336  DARK  HOLLOW 

night  faltering  on  their  lips,  when  suddenly  their 
eyes  flashed  together  in  mutual  question,  and  Deb- 
orah bent  her  ear  towards  the  street. 

An  automobile  was  slowing  up  —  stopping  — 
stopping  before  the  gates !  Deborah  turned  and 
looked  at  Mr.  Black.  Was  it  the  police?  No, 
for  the  automobile  was  starting  up  again  —  it  was 
going.  Whoever  had  come  had  come  to  stay. 
With  eyes  still  on  those  of  Mr.  Black,  whose  face 
showed  a  sudden  change,  she  threw  her  hand  be- 
hind her  and  felt  wildly  about  for  the  door-knob. 
She  had  just  grasped  it  —  when  the  bell  rang. 
Never  had  it  sounded  so  shrill  and  penetrating. 
Never  had  it  rung  quite  such  a  summons  through 
this  desolate  house.  Recoiling,  she  made  a  motion 
of  entreaty. 

"Go,"  she  whispered.     "Open!     I  cannot." 

Quickly  he  obeyed.  She  heard  him  pass  out  and 
down  the  walk,  and  through  the  first  gate.  Then 
there  came  a  silence,  followed  by  the  opening  of  the 
second  gate.  Then,  a  sound  like  smothered  greet- 
ings, followed  by  quickly  advancing  steps  and  a  voice 
she  knew : 

"  How  is  my  father?  Is  he  well?  I  cannot  en- 
ter till  I  know." 

It  was  Oliver !  —  come  from  some  distant  sta- 
tion, or  from  some  other  line  which  he  had  believed 
unwatched.  Tumultuous  as  her  thoughts  were,  she 
dared  not  indulge  in  them  for  a  moment,  or  give 
way  to  gratitude  or  any  other  emotion.  There  were 
words  to  be  said  —  words  which  must  be  uttered  on 


THE  VIGIL  337 

the  instant  and  with  as  much  imperiousness  as  his 
own. 

Throwing  the  door  wide,  she  called  down  the 
steps : 

"  Yes,  he  is  well.  Come  in,  Mr.  Ostrander,  and 
you,  too,  Mr.  Black.  Instructions  have  been  given 
me  by  the  judge,  which.  I  must  deliver  at  once.  He 
expects  you,  Oliver,"  she  went  on,  as  the  two  men 
stepped  in.  "  But  not  knowing  when,  he  bade  me 
say  to  you  immediately  upon  your  entrance  (and 
I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  do  this  in  Mr.  Black's 
presence),  that  much  as  he  would  like  to  be  on 
hand  to  greet  you,  he  cannot  see  you  to-night.  You 
may  wish  to  go  to  him  —  but  you  must  restrain  this 
wish.  Nor  are  you  to  talk,  though  he  does  not  for- 
bid you  to  listen.  If  you  do  not  know  what  has 
happened  here,  Mr.  Black  will  tell  you,  but  for  to- 
night at  least,  and  up  to  a  certain  hour  to-morrow, 
you  are  to  keep  your  own  counsel.  When  certain 
persons  whose  names  he  has  given  me  can  be  gotten 
together  in  this  house,  he  will  join  you,  giving  you 
your  first  meeting  in  the  presence  of  others.  After- 
wards he  will  see  you  alone.  If  these  plans  dis- 
tress you, —  if  you  find  the  delay  hard,  I  am  to  say 
that  it  is  even  harder  for  him  than  it  can  be  for  you. 
But  circumstances  compel  him  to  act  thus,  and  he 
expects  you  to  understand  and  be  patient.  Mr. 
Black,  assure  Mr.  Ostrander  that  I  am  not  likely  to 
overstate  the  judge's  commands,  or  to  add  to  or 
detract  from  them  in  the  least  particular  —  that  I  am 
simply  the  judge's  mouthpiece." 


338  DARK  HOLLOW. 

"  You  may  believe  that,  Mr.  Ostrander." 

Young  Ostrander  bowed. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  the  fact,"  he  assured  her, 
with  an  unsuccessful  effort  to  keep  his  trouble  out 
of  his  voice.  "  But  as  my  father  allows  me  some 
explanation,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  hear  what  has 
happened  here  to  occasion  my  imperative  recall." 

"  Do  you  not  read  the  papers,  Mr.  Ostrander?  " 

"  I  have  not  looked  at  one  since  I  started  upon 
my  return." 

Mr.  Black  glanced  at  Deborah,  who  was  slip- 
ping away.  Then  he  made  a  move  towards  the 
parlour. 

"If  you  will  come  in  and  sit  down,  Mr.  Os- 
trander, I'll  tell  you  what  you  have  every  right  to 
know." 

But  when  they  found  themselves  alone  together, 
Oliver's  manner  altered. 

"  One  moment,"  said  he,  before  Mr.  Black  could 
speak.  "  I  should  like  to  ask  you  first  of  all,  if 
Miss  Scoville  is  better.  When  I  left  you  both  so 
suddenly  at  Tempest  Lodge,  she  was  not  well. 
I—" 

"  She  is  quite  recovered,  Mr.  Ostrander." 

"And  is  here?" 

"  Not  yet.  I  came  back  quickly  —  like  your- 
self." 

Involuntarily  their  glances  met  in  a  question  which 
perhaps  neither  desired  to  have  answered.  Then 
Oliver  remarked  quite  simply: 

"  My  haste  seemed  warranted  by  my  father's  mes- 


THE  VIGIL  339 

sage.  Five  minutes, —  one  minute  even  is  of  great 
importance  when  you  have  but  fifteen  in  which  to 
catch  a  train." 

"  And  by  such  a  route !  " 

"  You  know  my  route."  A  short  laugh  escaped 
him.  "I  feared  the  delay  —  possibly  the  interfer- 
ence —  But  why  discuss  these  unimportant  matters  I 
I  succeeded  in  my  efforts.  I  am  here,  at  my 
father's  command,  unattended  and,  as  I  believe, 
without  the  knowledge  of  any  one  but  yourself  and 
Mrs.  Scoville.  But  your  reason  for  these  hasty 
summons  —  that  is  what  I  am  ready  now  to  hear." 
And  he  sat  down,  but  in  such  a  way  as  to  throw  his 
face  very  much  into  the  shadow. 

This  was  a  welcome  circumstance  to  the  lawyer. 
His  task  promised  to  be  hard  enough  at  the  best. 
Black  night  had  not  offered  too  dark  a  screen  be- 
tween him  and  the  man  thus  suddenly  called  upon 
to  face  suspicions  the  very  shadow  of  which  is 
enough  to  destroy  a  life.  The  hardy  lawyer  shrunk 
from  uttering  the  words  which  would  make  the  gulf 
imaginatively  opening  between  them  a  real,  if  not 
impassable,  one.  Something  about  the  young  man 
appealed  to  him  —  something  apart  from  his  rela- 
tionship to  the  judge  —  something  inherent  in  him- 
self. Perhaps  it  was  the  misery  he  betrayed.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  memory  of  Reuther's  faith  in  him 
and  how  that  faith  must  suffer  when  she  saw  him 
next.  Instantaneous  reflections;  but  epoch-making 
in  a  mind  like  his.  Alanson  Black  had  never  hesi- 
tated before  in  the  face  of  any  duty,  and  it  robbed 


340  DARK  HOLLOW 

him  of  confidence.  But  he  gave  no  proof  of  this  in 
voice  or  manner,  as  pacing  the  floor  in  alternate  ap- 
proach and  retreat,  he  finally  addressed  the  mo- 
tionless figure  he  could  no  longer  ignore. 

"You  want  to  know  what  has  happened  here? 
If  you  mean  lately,  I  shall  have  to  explain  that  any- 
thing which  has  lately  occurred  to  distress  your  father 
or  make  your  presence  here  desirable,  has  its  birth  in 
events  which  date  back  to  days  when  this  was  your 
home  and  the  bond  between  yourself  and  father  the 
usual  and  natural  one." 

Silence  in  that  shadowy  corner!  But  this  the 
speaker  had  expected,  and  must  have  exacted  even 
if  Oliver  had  shown  the  least  intention  of  speak- 
ing. 

"  A  man  was  killed  here  in  those  old  days  — 
pardon  me  if  I  am  too  abrupt  —  and  another  man 
was  executed  for  this  crime.  You  were  a  boy  — 
but  you  must  remember." 

Again  he  paused;  but  no  more  in  expectation  of 
or  desire  for  an  answer  than  before.  One  must 
breathe  between  the  blows  he  inflicts,  even  if  one  is 
a  lawyer. 

"  That  was  twelve  years  ago.  Not  so  long  a 
time  as  has  elapsed  since  you  met  a  waif  of  the 
streets  and  chastised  him  for  some  petty  annoyance. 
But  both  events,  the  great  and  the  little,  have  been 
well  remembered  here  in  Shelby;  and  when  Mrs. 
Scoville  came  amongst  us  a  month  or  so  ago,  with 
her  late  but  substantial  proofs  of  her  husband's 
innocence  in  the  matter  of  Etheridge's  death,  there 


THE  VIGIL  341 

came  to  her  aid  a  man,  who  not  only  remembered 
the  beating  he  had  received  as  a  child,  but  certain 
facts  which  led  him  to  denounce  by  name,  the  party 
destined  to  bear  at  this  late  day  the  onus  of  the  crime 
heretofore  ascribed  to  Scoville.  That  name  he 
wrote  on  bridges  and  walls ;  and  one  day,  when  your 
father  left  the  courthouse,  a  mob  followed  him, 
shouting  loud  words  which  I  will  not  repeat,  but 
which  you  must  understand  were  such  as  must  be 
met  and  answered  when  the  man  so  assailed  is  Judge 
Ostrander.  Have  I  said  enough?  If  so,  raise  your 
hand  and  I  will  desist  for  to-night." 

But  no  movement  took  place  in  the  shadow  cast 
by  Oliver's  figure  on  the  wall  before  which  Mr. 
Black  had  paused,  and  presently,  a  voice  was  heard 
from  where  he  sat,  saying: 

"  You  are  too  merciful.  I  do  not  want  general- 
ities but  the  naked  truth.  What  did  the  men 
shout?" 

"  You  have  asked  for  a  fact,  and  that  I  feel  free 
to  give  you.  They  shouted,  *  Where  is  Oliver,  your 
guilty  son,  Oliver?  You  saved  him  at  a  poor  man's 
expense,  but  we'll  have  him  yet.'  You  asked  me 
for  the  words,  Mr.  Ostrander." 

"Yes."  The  pause  was  long,  but  the  "  Yes " 
came  at  last.  Then  another  silence,  and  then  this 
peremptory  demand:  "  But  we  cannot  stop  here, 
Mr.  Black.  If  I  am  to  meet  my  father's  wishes  to- 
morrow, I  must  know  the  ground  upon  which  I 
stand.  What  evidence  lies  back  of  these  shouts? 
If  you  are  my  friend, —  and  you  have  shown  your- 


342  DARK  HOLLOW 

self  to  be  such, —  you  will  tell  me  the  whole  story. 
I  shall  say  nothing  more." 

Mr.  Black  was  not  walking  now;  he  was  standing 
stock-still  and  in  the  shadow  also.  And  with  this 
space  and  the  double  shadow  between  them,  Alanson 
Black  told  Oliver  Ostrander  why  the  people  had 
shouted:  "  We  will  have  him  yet." 

When  he  had  quite  finished,  he  came  into  the  light. 
He  did  not  look  in  the  direction  he  had  avoided 
from  the  first,  but  his  voice  had  a  different  note  as 
he  remarked: 

"  I  am  your  father's  friend,  and  I  have  promised 
to  be  yours.  You  may  expect  me  here  in  the  morn- 
ing, as  I  am  one  of  the  few  persons  your  father  has 
asked  to  be  present  at  your  first  interview.  If  after 
this  interview  you  wish  anything  more  from  me,  you 
have  only  to  signify  it.  I  am  blunt,  but  not  unfeel- 
ing, Mr.  Ostrander." 

A  slight  lift  of  the  hand,  visible  now  in  the 
shadow,  answered  him ;  and  with  a  silent  bow  he  left 
the  room. 

In  the  passage-way  he  met  Deborah. 

"  Leave  him  to  himself,"  said  he.  "  Later,  per- 
haps, you  can  do  something  for  him." 

But  she  found  this  quite  impossible.  Oliver 
would  neither  eat  nor  sleep.  When  the  early  morn- 
ing light  came,  he  was  sitting  there  still.  Was  his 
father  keeping  vigil  also  ?  We  shall  never  know. 


XXXIII 

THE  CURTAIN  LIFTED 

TEN  o'clock !  and  one  of  the  five  listed  to  be  present 
had  arrived  —  the  rector  of  the  church  which  the 
Ostranders  had  formerly  attended. 

He  was  ushered  into  the  parlour  by  Deborah, 
where  he  found  himself  received  not  by  the  judge 
in  whose  name  he  had  been  invited,  but  by  Mr. 
Black,  the  lawyer,  who  tendered  him  a  simple  good 
morning  and  pointed  out  a  chair. 

There  was  another  person  in  the  room, —  a  young 
man  who  stood  in  one  of  the  windows,  gazing  ab- 
stractedly out  at  the  line  of  gloomy  fence  rising 
between  him  and  the  street.  He  had  not  turned 
at  the  rector's  approach,  and  the  latter  had  failed 
to  recognise  him. 

And  so  with  each  new  arrival.  He  neither 
turned  nor  moved  at  any  one's  entrance,  but  left  it 
to  Mr.  Black  to  do  the  honours  and  make  the  best 
of  a  situation,  difficult,  if  not  inexplicable  to  all  of 
them.  Nor  could  it  be  seen  that  any  of  these  men 
—  city  officials,  prominent  citizens  and  old  friends, 
recognised  his  figure  or  suspected  his  identity.  Be- 
yond a  passing  glance  his  way,  they  betrayed  neither 
curiosity  nor  interest,  being  probably  sufficiently  oc- 
cupied in  accounting  for  their  own  presence  in  the 
home  of  their  once  revered  and  now  greatly 

343 


344  DARK  HOLLOW 

maligned  compeer.  Judge  Ostrander,  attacked 
through  his  son,  was  about  to  say  or  do  something 
which  each  and  every  one  of  them  secretly  thought 
had  better  be  left  unsaid  or  undone.  Yet  none 
showed  any  disposition  to  leave  the  place ;  and  when, 
after  a  short,  uneasy  pause  during  which  all  attempts 
at  conversation  failed,  they  heard  a  slow  and 
weighty  step  approaching  through  the  hall,  the  sus- 
pense was  such  that  no  one  but  Mr.  Black  noticed 
the  quick  whirl  with  which  Oliver  turned  himself 
about,  nor  the  look  of  mortal  anguish  with  which  he 
awaited  the  opening  of  the  door  and  his  father's 
entrance  among  them.  No  one  noticed,  I  say,  until, 
simultaneously  with  the  appearance  of  Judge  Os- 
trander on  the  threshold,  a  loud  cry  swept  through 
the  room  of  "  Don't!  don't  1  "  and  the  man  they  had 
barely  noticed,  flashed  by  them  all,  and  fell  at  the 
judge's  feet  with  a  smothered  repetition  of  his  ap- 
peal: "  Don't,  father,  don't!  " 

Then,  each  man  knew  why  he  had  been  sum- 
moned there,  and  knowing,  gazed  earnestly  at  these 
two  faces.  Twelve  years  of  unappeased  longing, 
of  smothered  love,  rising  above  doubts,  persisting 
in  spite  of  doubts,  were  concentrated  into  that  one 
instant  of  mutual  recognition.  The  eye  of  the 
father  was  upon  that  of  the  son  and  that  of  the  son 
upon  that  of  the  father  and  for  them,  at  least  in 
this  first  instant  of  reunion,  the  years  were  forgot- 
ten and  sin,  sorrow  and  on-coming  doom  effaced 
from  their  mutual  consciousness. 

Then  the  tide  of  life  flowed  back  into  the  pres- 


THE  CURTAIN  LIFTED  345 

ent,  and  the  judge,  motioning  to  his  son  to  rise,  ob- 
served very  distinctly: 

"Don't  is  an  ambiguous  word,  my  son,  and  on 
your  lips,  at  this  juncture,  may  mislead  those  whom 
I  have  called  here  to  hear  the  truth  from  us  and 
the  truth  only.  You  have  heard  what  happened 
here  a  few  days  ago.  How  a  long-guarded,  long- 
suppressed  suspicion  —  so  guarded  and  so  sup- 
pressed that  I  had  no  intimation  of  its  existence  even, 
found  vent  at  a  moment  of  public  indignation,  and 
I  heard  you,  you,  Oliver  Ostrander,  accused  to  my 
face  of  having  in  some  boyish  fit  of  rage  struck 
down  the  man  for  whose  death  another  has  long 
since  paid  the  penalty.  This  you  have  already  been 
told." 

"  Yes."  The  word  cut  sharply  through  the 
silence;  but  the  fire  with  which  the  young  man  rose 
and  faced  them  all  showed  him  at  his  best.  "  But 
surely,  no  person  present  believes  it.  No  one  can 
who  knows  you  and  the  principles  in  which  I  have 
been  raised.  This  fellow  whom  I  beat  as  a  boy  has 
waited  long  to  start  this  damnable  report.  Surely 
he  will  get  no  hearing  from  unprejudiced  and  intel- 
ligent men." 

"  The  police  have  listened  to  him.  Mr.  Andrews, 
who  is  one  of  the  gentlemen  present,  has  heard  his 
story  and  you  see  that  he  stands  here  silent,  my  son. 
And  that  is  not  all.  Mrs.  Scoville,  who  has  loved 
you  like  a  mother,  longs  to  believe  in  your  inno- 
cence, and  cannot." 

A  low  cry  from  the  hall. 


346  DARK  HOLLOW 

It  died  away  unheeded. 

"  And  Mr.  Black,  her  husband's  counsel,"  con- 
tinued the  father,  in  the  firm,  low  tones  of  one  who 
for  many  long  days  and  nights  had  schooled  himself 
for  the  duty  of  this  hour,  "  shares  her  feeling.  He 
has  tried  not  to;  but  he  does.  They  have  found 
evidences  —  you  know  them ;  proofs  which  might 
not  have  amounted  to  much  had  it  not  been  for  the 
one  mischievous  fact  which  has  undermined  public 
confidence  and  given  point  to  these  attacks.  I  refer 
to  the  life  we  have  led  and  the  barriers  we  have  our- 
selves raised  against  our  mutual  intercourse.  These 
have  undone  us.  To  the  question,  r  Why  these  bar- 
riers ? '  I  can  find  no  answer  but  the  one  which 
ends  this  struggle.  Succumbing  myself,  I  ask  you 
to  do  so  also.  Out  of  the  past  comes  a  voice  — 
the  voice  of  Algernon  Etheridge,  demanding  ven- 
geance for  his  untimely  end.  It  will  not  be  gain- 
said. Not  satisfied  with  the  toll  we  have  both  paid 
in  these  years  of  suffering  and  repression, —  un- 
mindful of  the  hermit's  life  I  have  led  and  of  the 
heart  disappointments  you  have  borne,  its  cry  for 
punishment  remains  insistent.  Gentlemen  —  Hush  ! 
Oliver,  it  is  for  me  to  cry  Don't  now  —  John  Sco- 
ville  was  a  guilty  man  —  a  murderer  and  a  thief  — 
but  he  did  not  wield  the  stick  which  killed  Algernon 
Etheridge.  Another  hand  raised  that.  No,  do  not 
look  at  the  boy.  He  is  innocent !  Look  here !  look 
here !  "  And  with  one  awful  gesture,  he  stood  still, 
—  while  horror  rose  like  a  wave  and  engulfed  the 
room  —  choking  back  breath  and  speech  from  every 


THE  CURTAIN  LIFTED  347 

living  soul  there,  and  making  a  silence  more  awful 
than  any  sound  —  or  so  they  all  felt,  till  his  voice 
rose  again  and  they  heard  — 

"You  have  trusted  to  appearances;  you  must 
trust  now  to  my  word.  I  am  the  guilty  man,  not 
Scoville,  and  not  Oliver,  though  Oliver  may  have 
been  in  the  ravine  that  night  and  even  handled  the 
bludgeon  I  found  at  my  feet  in  the  recesses  of  Dark 
Hollow." 

Then  consternation  spoke,  and  muttered  cries 
were  heard  of  "  Madness!  It  is  not  we  who  are 
needed  here  but  a  physician !  "  and  dominating  all, 
the  ringing  shout: 

"  You  cannot  save  me  so,  father.  I  hated  Ethe- 
ridge  and  I  slew  him.  Gentlemen,"  he  prayed  in 
his  agony,  coming  close  into  their  midst,  "  do  not 
be  misled  for  a  moment  by  a  father's  devotion." 

His  lifted  head,  his  flashing  eye,  drew  every  look. 
Honour  confronted  them  in  a  countenance  from 
which  all  reserve  had  melted  away.  No  guilt 
showed  there;  he  stood  among  them,  a  heroic  fig- 
ure. 

Slowly,  and  with  a  dread  which  no  man  might 
measure,  the  glances  which  had  just  devoured  his 
young  but  virile  countenance  passed  to  that  of  the 
father.  They  did  not  leave  it  again.  "Son?" 
With  what  tenderness  he  spoke,  but  with  what  a  ring 
of  desolation.  "  I  understand  your  effort  and  ap- 
preciate it;  but  it  is  a  useless  one.  You  cannot 
deceive  these  friends  of  ours  —  men  who  have 
known  my  life.  If  you  were  in  the  ravine  that 


348  DARK  HOLLOW 

night,  so  was  I.  If  you  handled  John  Scoville's 
stick,  so  did  I,  and  after  you!  Let  us  not  struggle 
for  the  execration  of  mankind;  let  it  fall  where  it 
rightfully  belongs.  It  can  bring  no  sting  keener 
than  that  to  which  my  breast  has  long  been  subject. 
Or  — "  and  here  his  tones  sank,  in  a  last  recognition 
of  all  he  was  losing  forever,  "  if  there  is  suffering 
in  a  once  proud  man  flinging  from  him  the  last  rag 
of  respect  with  which  he  sought  to  cover  the  hideous 
nakedness  of  an  unsuspected  crime,  it  is  lost  in  the 
joy  of  doing  justice  to  the  son  who  would  take  ad- 
vantage of  circumstances  to  assume  his  father's 
guilt." 

But  Oliver,  with  a  fire  which  nothing  could  damp, 
spoke  up  again: 

"  Gentlemen,  will  you  see  my  father  so  degrade 
himself?  He  has  dwelt  so  continually  upon  the 
knowledge  which  separated  us  a  dozen  years  ago 
that  he  no  longer  can  discriminate  between  the  guilty 
and  the  innocent.  Would  he  have  sat  in  court; 
would  he  have  uttered  sentences;  would  he  have 
kept  his  seat  upon  the  bench  for  all  these  years,  if 
he  had  borne  within  his  breast  this  secret  of  per- 
sonal guilt?  No.  It  is  not  in  human  nature  to 
play  such  a  part.  I  was  guilty  —  and  I  fled.  Let 
the  act  speak  for  itself.  The  respect  due  my  father 
must  not  be  taken  from  him." 

Confession  and  counter-confession!  What  were 
they  to  think !  Alanson  Black,  aghast  at  this  dread 
dilemma,  ran  over  in  his  mind  all  that  had  led  him 
to  accept  Oliver's  guilt  as  proven,  and  then,  in  inv 


THE  CURTAIN  LIFTED  349 

mediate  opposition  to  it,  the  details  of  that  old  trial 
and  the  judge's  consequent  life;  and,  voicing  the 
helpless  confusion  of  the  others,  observed  with 
forced  firmness : 

"  We  have  heard  much  of  Oliver's  wanderings  in 
the  ravine  on  that  fatal  night,  but  nothing  of  yours, 
Judge  Ostrander.  It  is  not  enough  for  you  to  say 
that  you  were  there;  you  must  prove  it." 

"  The  proof  is  in  my  succumbing  to  the  shock  of 
hearing  Oliver's  name  associated  with  this  crime. 
Had  he  been  guilty  —  had  our  separation  come 
through  his  crime  and  not  through  my  own,  I  should 
have  been  prepared  for  such  a  contingency,  and  not 
overwhelmed  by  it." 

"  And  were  you  not  prepared?  " 

"No,  before  God!" 

The  gesture  accompanying  this  oath  was  a  grand 
one,  convincing  in  its  fervour,  its  majesty  and 
power. 

But  facts  are  stubborn  things,  and  while  most  of 
those  present  were  still  thrilling  under  the  effect  of 
this  oath,  the  dry  voice  of  District  Attorney  An- 
drews was  heard  for  the  first  time,  in  these  words : 

"  Why,  then,  did  you,  on  the  night  of  Bela's  death, 
stop  on  your  way  across  the  bridge  to  look  back  upon 
Dark  Hollow  and  cry  in  the  bitterest  tones  which 
escape  human  lips,  '  Oliver!  Oliver!  Oliver!  '  You 
were  heard  to  speak  this  name,  Judge  Ostrander," 
he  hastily  put  in,  as  the  miserable  father  raised  his 
hand  in  ineffectual  protest.  "  A  man  was  lurking 
in  the  darkness  behind  you,  who  both  saw  and  heard 


350  DARK  HOLLOW 

you.  He  may  not  be  the  most  prepossessing  of  wit- 
nesses, but  we  cannot  discredit  his  story." 

"  Mr.  Andrews,  you  have  no  children.  To  the 
man  who  has,  I  make  my  last  appeal.  Mr.  Ren- 
frew, you  know  the  human  heart  both  as  a  father  and 
a  pastor.  Do  you  find  anything  unnatural  in  a 
guilty  soul  bemoaning  its  loss  rather  than  its  sin, 
in  the  spot  which  recalled  both  to  his  overburdened 
spirit?  " 

"  No." 

The  word  came  sharply,  and  it  sounded  decisive; 
but  the  ones  which  followed  from  Mr.  Andrews 
were  no  less  so. 

"  That  is  not  enough.  We  want  evidence,  ac- 
tual evidence  that  you  are  not  playing  the  part  your 
son  ascribes  to  you." 

The  judge's  eyes  glared,  then  suddenly  and  in- 
comprehensively  softened  till  the  quick  fear  that  his 
mind  as  well  as  his  memory  had  gone  astray,  van- 
ished in  a  feeling  none  of  them  could  have  charac- 
terised, but  which  gave  to  them  all  an  expression  of 
awe. 

"  I  have  such  evidence,"  announced  the  judge. 
"  Come." 

Turning,  he  stepped  into  the  hall.  Oliver,  with 
bended  head  and  a  discouraged  mien,  quickly  fol- 
lowed. Alanson  Black  and  the  others,  casting 
startled  and  inquiring  looks  at  each  other,  brought 
up  the  rear.  Deborah  Scoville  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen. 

At  the  door  of  his  own  room,  the  judge  paused, 


THE  CURTAIN  LIFTED  351 

and  with  his  hand  on  the  curtain,  remarked  with  un- 
expected composure :  "  You  have  all  wondered, 
and  others  with  you  why  for  the  last  ten  years  I  have 
kept  the  gates  of  my  house  shut  against  every  comer. 
I  am  going  to  show  you." 

And  with  no  further  word  or  look,  scarcely  even 
giving  attention  to  Oliver's  anguished  presence,  he 
led  them  into  the  study  and  from  there  on  to  that 
inner  door  known  and  talked  of  through  the  town  as 
the  door  of  mystery.  This  he  slowly  opened  with 
the  key  he  took  from  his  pocket;  then,  pausing  with 
the  knob  in  his  hand,  he  said: 

"  In  the  years  which  are  past,  but  two  persons  be- 
side myself  have  crossed  this  threshold,  and  these 
only  under  my  eye.  Its  secret  was  for  my  own 
breast.  Judge  what  my  remorse  has  been;  judge 
the  power  of  my  own  secret  self-condemnation,  by 
what  you  see  here." 

And,  entering,  he  reached  up,  and  pulled  aside  the 
carpet  he  had  strung  up  over  one  end  of  the  room, 
disclosing  amid  a  number  of  loosened  boards,  the 
barred  cell  of  a  condemned  convict. 

"  This  was  my  bed,  gentlemen,  till  a  stranger  com- 
ing into  my  home,  made  such  an  acknowledgment  of 
my  sin  impossible !  " 


XXXIV 

DARK    HOLLOW 

LATER,  when  the  boards  he  had  loosened  in  antici- 
pation of  this  hour  were  all  removed,  they  came 
upon  a  packet  of  closely  written  words  hidden  in  the 
framework  of  the  bed. 
It  read  as  follows: 

Whosoever  lays  hands  on  this  MS.  will  already  be 
acquainted  with  my  crime.  If  he  would  also  know 
its  cause  and  the  full  story  of  my  hypocrisy,  let 
him  read  these  lines  written,  as  it  were,  with  my 
heart's  blood. 

I  loved  Algernon  Etheridge;  I  shall  never  have 
a  dearer  friend.  His  odd  ways,  his  lank,  possibly 
ungainly  figure  crowned  by  a  head  of  scholarly  re- 
finement, his  amiability  when  pleased,  his  irasci- 
bility when  crossed,  formed  a  character  attractive  to 
me  from  its  very  contradictions;  and  after  my  wife's 
death  and  before  my  son  Oliver  reached  a  com- 
panionable age,  it  was  in  my  intercourse  with  this 
man  I  found  my  most  solid  satisfaction. 

Yet  we  often  quarrelled.  His  dogmatism  fre- 
quently ran  counter  to  my  views,  and,  being  myself 
a  man  of  quick  and  violent  temper,  hard  words 
sometimes  passed  between  us,  to  be  forgotten  the 
next  minute  in  a  hand-shake,  or  some  other  token  of 
352 


DARK  HOLLOW  353 

mutual  esteem.  These  dissensions  —  if  such  they 
could  be  called  —  never  took  place  except  in  the 
privacy  of  his  study  or  mine.  We  thought  too  much 
of  each  other  to  display  our  differences  of  opinion 
abroad  or  even  in  the  presence  of  Oliver;  and  how- 
ever heated  our  arguments  or  whatever  our  topic 
we  invariably  parted  friends,  till  one  fateful  night. 

O  God!  that  years  of  repentance,  self-hatred  and 
secret  immolation  can  never  undo  the  deed  of  an  in- 
furiated moment.  Eternity  may  console,  but  it  can 
never  make  me  innocent  of  the  blood  of  my  heart's 
brother. 

We  had  had  our  usual  wordy  disagreement  over 
some  petty  subject  in  which  he  was  no  nearer  wrong 
nor  I  any  nearer  right  than  we  had  been  many 
times  before ;  but  for  some  reason  I  found  it  harder 
to  pardon  him.  Perhaps  some  purely  physical  cause 
lay  back  of  this;  perhaps  the  nervous  irritation  inci- 
dent upon  a  decision  then  pending  in  regard  to 
Oliver's  future,  heightened  my  feelings  and  made 
me  less  reasonable  than  usual.  The  cause  does  not 
matter,  the  result  does.  For  the  first  time  in  our  long 
acquaintance,  I  let  Algernon  Etheridge  leave  me, 
without  any  attempt  at  conciliation. 

If  only  I  had  halted  there!  If,  at  sight  of  my 
empty  study,  I  had  not  conceived  the  mad  notion 
of  waylaying  him  at  the  bridge  for  the  hand-shake 
I  missed,  I  might  have  been  a  happy  man  now,  and 
Oliver  —  But  why  dwell  upon  these  might-have- 
beens!  What  happened  was  this: 

Disturbed  in  mind,  and  finding  myself  alone  in  the 


354  DARK  HOLLOW 

house,  Oliver  having  evidently  gone  out  while  we 
two  were  disputing,  I  decided  to  follow  out  the  im- 
pulse I  have  mentioned.  Leaving  by  the  rear,  I 
went  down  the  lane  to  the  path  which  serves  as  a 
short  cut  to  the  bridge.  That  I  did  this  unseen  by 
anybody  is  not  so  strange  when  you  consider  the 
hour,  and  how  the  only  person  then  living  in  the 
lane  was,  in  all  probability,  in  her  kitchen.  It 
would  have  been  better  for  me,  little  as  I  might 
have  recognised  it  at  the  time,  had  she  been  where 
she  could  have  witnessed  both  my  going  and  com- 
ing and  faced  me  with  the  fact. 

John  Scoville,  in  his  statement,  says  that  after 
giving  up  his  search  for  his  little  girl,  he  wandered 
up  the  ravine  before  taking  the  path  back  which  led 
him  through  Dark  Hollow.  This  was  false,  as  well 
as  the  story  he  told  of  leaving  his  stick  by  the  chest- 
nut tree  in  the  gully  at  foot  of  Ostrander  Lane. 
For  I  was  on  the  spot,  and  I  know  the  route  by 
which  he  reached  Dark  Hollow  and  also  through 
whose  agency  the  stick  came  to  be  there. 

Read,  and  learn  with  what  tricks  the  devil  be- 
guiles us  men. 

I  was  descending  this  path,  heavily  shadowed,  as 
you  know,  by  a  skirting  of  closely  growing  trees  and 
bushes,  when  just  where  it  dips  into  the  Hollow,  I 
heard  the  sound  of  a  hasty  foot  come  crashing  up 
through  the  underbrush  from  the  ravine  and  cross 
the  path  ahead  of  me.  A  turn  in  the  path  prevented 
me  from  seeing  the  man  himself,  but  as  you  will 
perceive  and  as  I  perceived  later  when  circumstances 


DARK  HOLLOW  355 

recalled  it  to  my  mind,  I  had  no  need  to  see  him 
to  know  who  it  was  or  with  what  intent  he  took 
this  method  of  escape  from  the  ravine  into  the 
fields  leading  to  the  highway.  Scoville's  stick  spoke 
for  him,  the  stick  which  I  presently  tripped  over 
and  mechanically  picked  up,  without  a  thought 
of  the  desperate  use  to  which  I  was  destined  to 
put  it. 

Etheridge  was  coming.  I  could  hear  his  whistle 
on  Factory  Road.  There  was  no  mistaking  it.  It 
was  an  unusually  shrill  one  and  had  always  been  a 
cause  of  irritation  to  me,  but  at  this  moment  it  was 
more;  it  roused  every  antagonistic  impulse  within 
me.  He  whistling  like  a  galliard,  after  a  parting 
which  had  dissatisfied  me  to  such  an  extent  that  I 
had  come  all  this  distance  to  ask  his  pardon  and  see 
his  old  smile  again!  Afterwards,  long  afterwards, 
I  was  able  to  give  another  interpretation  to  his  show 
of  apparent  self-satisfaction,  but  then  I  saw  nothing 
but  the  contrast  it  offered  to  my  own  tender  regrets, 
and  my  blood  began  to  boil  and  my  temper  rise  to 
such  a  point  that  recrimination  took  the  place  of 
apology  when  in  another  moment  we  came  together 
in  the  open  space  between  the  end  of  the  bridge  and 
Dark  Hollow. 

He  was  in  no  better  mood  than  myself  to  en- 
counter insult,  and  what  had  been  a  simple  differ- 
ence between  us  flamed  into  a  quarrel  which  reached 
its  culmination  when  he  mentioned  Oliver's  name 
with  a  taunt,  which  the  boy,  for  all  his  obstinate 
clinging  to  his  journalistic  idea,  did  not  deserve. 


356  DARK  HOLLOW 

Knowing  my  own  temper,  I  drew  back  into  the 
Hollow. 

He  followed  me. 

I  tried  to  speak. 

He  took  the  word  out  of  my  mouth.  This  may 
have  been  with  the  intent  of  quelling  my  anger,  but 
the  tone  was  rasping,  and  noting  this  and  not  his 
words,  my  hand  tightened  insensibly  about  the  stick 
which  the  devil  (or  John  Scoville)  had  put  in  my 
hand.  Did  he  see  this,  or  was  he  prompted  by 
some  old  memory  of  boyish  quarrels  that  he  should 
give  utterance  to  that  quick,  sharp  laugh  of  scorn! 
I  shall  never  know,  but  ere  the  sound  had  ceased, 
the  stick  was  whirling  over  my  head  —  there  came 
a  crash  and  he  fell.  My  friend!  My  friend! 

Next  moment  the  earth  seemed  too  narrow,  the 
heavens  too  contracted  for  my  misery.  That  he  was 
dead  —  that  my  blow  had  killed  him,  I  never 
doubted  for  an  instant.  I  knew  it,  as  we  know  the 
face  of  Doom  when  once  it  has  risen  upon  us. 
Never,  never  again  would  this  lump  of  clay,  which 
a  few  minutes  before  had  filled  the  Hollow  with 
shrillest  whistling,  breathe  or  think  or  speak.  He 
was  dead,  dead,  dead!  —  And  I?  What  was  I? 

The  name  which  no  man  hears  unmoved,  no 
amount  of  repetition  makes  easy  to  the  tongue  or 
welcome  to  the  ear!  .  .  .  the  name  which  I  had 
heard  launched  in  full  forensic  eloquence  so  many 
times  in  accusation  against  the  wretches  I  had  hardly 
regarded  as  being  in  the  same  human  class  as  my- 
self, rang  in  my  ear  as  though  intoned  from  the  very 


DARK  HOLLOW  357 

mouth  of  hell.  I  could  not  escape  it.  I  should 
never  be  able  to  escape  it  again.  Though  I  was 
standing  in  a  familiar  scene  —  a  scene  I  had  known 
and  frequented  from  childhood,  I  felt  myself  as  iso- 
lated from  my  past  and  as  completely  set  apart  from 
my  fellows  as  the  shipwrecked  mariner  tossed  to 
precarious  foot-hold  on  his  wave-dashed  rock.  I 
forgot  that  other  criminals  existed.  In  that  one 
awful  moment  I  was  in  my  own  eyes  the  only  blot 
upon  the  universe  —  the  sole  inhabitant  of  the. new 
world  into  which  I  had  plunged  —  the  world  of 
crime  —  the  world  upon  which  I  had  sat  in  judgment 
before  I  knew  — 

What  broke  the  spell?  A  noise?  No,  I  heard 
no  noise.  The  sense  of  some  presence  near,  if  not 
intrusive?  God  knows;  all  I  can  say  is  that,  drawn 
by  some  other  will  than  my  own,  I  found  my  glance 
travelling  up  the  opposing  bluff  till  at  its  top,  framed 
between  the  ragged  wall  and  towering  chimney  of 
Spencer's  Folly,  I  saw  the  presence  I  had  dreaded, 
the  witness  who  was  to  undo  me. 

It  was  a  woman  —  a  woman  with  a  little  child  in 
hand.  I  did  not  see  her  face,  for  she  was  just  on 
the  point  of  turning  away  from  the  dizzy  verge,  but 
nothing  could  have  been  plainer  than  the  silhouette 
which  these  two  made  against  the  flush  of  that  early 
evening  sky.  I  see  it  yet  in  troubled  dreams  and 
desperate  musings.  I  shall  see  it  always;  for  hard 
upon  its  view,  fear  entered  my  soul,  horrible,  belit- 
tling fear,  torturing  me  not  with  a  sense  of  guilt  but 
of  its  consequences.  I  had  slain  a  man  to  my  hurt,  I 


358  DARK  HOLLOW 

a  judge,  just  off  the  Bench;  and  soon  .  .  .  possibly 
before  I  should  see  Oliver  again  ...  I  should  be 
branded  from  end  to  end  of  the  town  with  that 
name  which  had  made  such  havoc  in  my  mind  when 
I  first  saw  Algernon  Etheridge  lying  stark  before 
me. 

I  longed  to  cry  out  —  to  voice  my  despair  in  the 
spot  where  my  sin  had  found  me  out;  but  my  throat 
had  closed,  and  the  blood  in  my  veins  ceased  flow- 
ing. As  long  as  I  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  this 
woman's  fluttering  skirt  as  she  retreated  through 
the  ruins,  I  stood  there,  self-convicted,  above  the 
man  I  had  slain,  staring  up  at  that  blotch  of  shining 
sky  which  was  as  the  gate  of  hell  to  me.  Not  till 
their  two  figures  had  disappeared  and  it  was  quite 
clear  again  did  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  re- 
turn, and  with  it  the  thought  of  flight. 

But  where  could  I  fly?  No  spot  in  the  wide 
world  was  secret  enough  to  conceal  me  now.  I  was 
a  marked  man.  Better  to  stand  my  ground,  and 
take  the  consequences,  than  to  act  the  coward's  part 
and  slink  away  like  those  other  men  of  blood  I  had 
so  often  sat  in  judgment  upon. 

Had  I  but  followed  this  impulse !  Had  I  but  gone 
among  my  fellows,  shown  them  the  mark  of  Cain 
upon  my  forehead,  and  prayed,  not  for  indulgence, 
but  punishment,  what  days  of  gnawing  misery  I 
should  have  been  spared ! 

But  the  horror  of  what  lay  at  my  feet  drove  me 
from  the  Hollow  and  drove  me  the  wrong  way.  As 
my  steps  fell  mechanically  into  the  trail  down  which 


DARK  HOLLOW  359 

I  had  come  in  innocence  and  kindly  purpose  only  a 
few  minutes  before,  a  startling  thought  shot  through 
my  benumbed  mind.  The  woman  had  shown  no 
haste  in  her  turning!  There  had  been  a  naturalness 
in  her  movement,  a  dignity  and  a  grace  which  spoke 
of  ease,  not  shock.  What  if  she  had  not  seen! 
What  if  my  deed  was  as  yet  unknown!  Might  I 
not  have  time  for — for  what?  I  did  not  stop  to 
think;  I  just  pressed  on,  saying  to  myself,  "  Let  Prov- 
idence decide.  If  I  meet  any  one  before  I  reach 
my  own  door,  my  doom  is  settled.  If  I  do  not — " 

And  I  did  not.  As  I  turned  into  the  lane  from 
the  ravine  I  heard  a  sound  far  down  the  slope,  but 
it  was  too  distant  to  create  apprehension,  and  I  went 
calmly  on,  forcing  myself  into  my  usual  leisurely 
gait,  if  only  to  gain  some  control  over  my  own  emo- 
tions before  coming  under  Oliver's  eye. 

That  sound  I  have  never  understood.  It  could 
not  have  been  Scoville  since  in  the  short  time  which 
had  passed,  he  could  not  have  fled  from  the  point 
where  I  heard  him  last  into  the  ravine  below  Os- 
trander  Lane.  But  if  not  he,  who  was  it?  Or  if 
it  was  he,  and  some  other  hand  threw  his  stick  across 
my  path,  whose  was  this  hand  and  why  have  we 
never  heard  anything  about  it?  It  is  a  question 
which  sometimes  floats  through  my  mind,  but  I  did 
not  give  it  a  thought  then.  I  was  within  sight  of 
home  and  Oliver's  possible  presence;  and  all  other 
dread  was  as  nothing  in  comparison  to  what  I  felt 
at  the  prospect  of  meeting  my  boy's  eye.  My  boy's 
eye !  my  greatest  dread  then,  and  my  greatest  dread 


360  DARK  HOLLOW 

still!     In  my  terror  of  it  I  walked  as  to  my  doom. 

The  house  which  I  had  left  empty,  I  found  empty; 
Oliver  had  not  yet  returned.  The  absolute  stillness 
of  the  rooms  seemed  appalling.  Instinctively,  I 
looked  up  at  the  clock.  It  had  stopped.  Not  at  the 
minute  —  I  do  not  say  it  was  at  the  minute  —  but 
near,  very  near  the  time  when  from  an  innocent  man 
I  became  a  guilty  one.  Appalled  at  the  discovery, 
I  fled  to  the  front.  Opening  the  door,  I  looked 
out.  Not  a  creature  in  sight,  and  not  a  sound  to  be 
heard.  The  road  was  as  lonely  and  seemingly  as 
forsaken  as  the  house.  Had  time  stopped  here  too? 
Were  the  world  and  its  interests  at  a  pause  in  horror 
of  my  deed?  For  a  moment  I  believed  it;  then 
more  natural  sensations  intervened  and,  rejoicing  at 
this  lack  of  disturbance  where  disturbance  meant  dis- 
covery, I  stepped  inside  again  and  went  and  sat  down 
in  my  own  room. 

My  own  room!  Was  it  mine  any  longer?  Its 
walls  looked  strange;  the  petty  objects  of  my  daily 
handling,  unfamiliar.  The  change  in  myself  in- 
fected everything  I  saw.  I  might  have  been  in  an- 
other man's  house  for  all  connection  these  things 
seemed  to  have  with  me  or  my  life.  Like  one  set 
apart  on  an  unapproachable  shore,  I  stretched  hands 
in  vain  towards  all  that  I  had  known  and  all  that  had 
been  of  value  to  me. 

But  as  the  minutes  passed,  as  the  hands  of  the 
clock  I  had  hastily  rewound  moved  slowly  round 
the  dial,  I  began  to  lose  this  feeling.  Hope  which 
I  thought  quite  dead  slowly  revived.  Nothing  had 


DARK  HOLLOW  361 

happened,  and  perhaps  nothing  would.  Men  had 
been  killed  before,  and  the  slayer  passed  unrecog- 
nised. Why  might  it  not  be  so  in  my  case?  If  the 
woman  continued  to  remain  silent;  if  for  any  rea- 
son she  had  not  witnessed  the  blow  or  the  striker, 
who  else  was  there  to  connect  me  with  an  assault 
committed  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away?  No  one  knew 
of  the  quarrel;  and  if  they  did,  who  could  be  so 
daring  as  to  associate  one  of  my  name  with  an  ac- 
tion so  brutal?  A  judge  slay  his  friend!  It  would 
take  evidence  of  a  very  marked  character  to  make 
even  my  political  enemies  believe  that. 

As  the  twilight  deepened  I  rose  from  my  seat 
and  lit  the  gas.  I  must  not  be  found  skulking  in 
the  dark.  Then  I  began  to  count  the  ticks  measur- 
ing off  the  hour.  If  thirty  minutes  more  passed 
without  a  rush  from  without,  I  might  hope.  If 
twenty?  —  if  ten?  —  then  it  was  five !  then  it  was  — 
Ah,  at  last !  The  gate  had  clanged  to.  They  were 

coming.  I  could  hear  steps  —  voices a  loud 

ring  at  the  bell.  Laying  down  the  pen  I  had  taken 
up  mechanically,  I  moved  slowly  towards  the  front. 
Should  I  light  the  hall  gas  as  I  went  by?  It  was 
a  natural  action,  and,  being  natural,  would  show 
unconcern.  But  I  feared  the  betrayal  which  my 
ashy  face  and  trembling  hands  might  make.  Ag- 
itation after  the  news  was  to  be  expected,  but  not 
before !  So  I  left  the  hall  dark  when  I  opened  the 
door. 

And  thus  decided  my  future. 

For  in  the  faces  of  the  small  crowd  which  blocked 


362  DARK  HOLLOW 

the  doorway,  I  detected  nothing  but  commiseration ; 
and  when  a  voice  spoke  and  I  heard  Oliver's  ac- 
cents surcharged  with  nothing  more  grievous  than 
pity,  I  realised  that  my  secret  was  as  yet  unshared, 
and  seeing  that  no  man  suspected  me,  I  forebore 
to  declare  my  guilt  to  any  one. 

This  sudden  restoration  from  soundless  depths 
into  the  pure  air  of  respect  and  sympathy  confused 
me;  and  beyond  the  words  Killed!  Struck  down 
by  the  bridge!  I  heard  little,  till  slowly,  dully  like 
the  call  of  a  bell  issuing  from  a  smothering  mist,  I 
caught  the  sound  of  a  name  and  then  the  words, 
"  He  did  it  just  for  the  watch; "  which  hardly  con- 
veyed meaning  to  me,  so  full  was  I  of  Oliver's  look 
and  Oliver's  tone  and  the  way  his  arm  supported 
me  as  he  chided  them  for  their  abruptness  and  en- 
deavoured to  lead  me  away. 

But  the  name!  It  stuck  in  my  ear  and  gradu- 
ally it  dawned  upon  my  consciousness  that  another 
man  had  been  arrested  for  my  crime  and  that  the 
safety,  the  reverence  and  the  commiseration  that 
were  so  dear  to  me  had  been  bought  at  a  price  no 
man  of  honour  might  pay. 

But  I  was  no  longer  a  man  of  honour.  I  was  a 
wretched  criminal  swaying  above  a  gulf  of  infamy 
in  which  I  had  seen  others  swallowed  but  had  never 
dreamed  of  being  engulfed  myself.  I  never  thought 
of  letting  myself  go  —  not  at  this  crisis  —  not  while 
my  heart  was  warm  with  its  resurgence  into  the  old 
life. 

And  so  I  let  pass  this  second  opportunity  for  con- 


DARK  HOLLOW  363 

fession.  Afterwards,  it  was  too  late  —  or  seemed 
too  late  to  my  demoralised  judgment. 

My  first  real  awakening  to  the  extraordinary  hor- 
rors of  my  position  was  when  I  realised  that  cir- 
cumstances were  likely  to  force  me  into  presiding 
over  the  trial  of  the  man  Scoville.  This  I  felt  to 
be  beyond  even  my  rapidly  hardening  conscience. 
I  made  great  efforts  to  evade  it,  but  they  all  failed. 
Then  I  feigned  sickness,  only  to  realise  that  my  place 
would  be  taken  by  Judge  Grosvenor,  a  notoriously 
prejudiced  man.  If  he  sat,  it  would  go  hard  with 
the  prisoner,  and  I  wanted  the  prisoner  acquitted. 
I  had  no  grudge  against  John  Scoville.  I  was  grate- 
ful to  him.  By  his  own  confession  he  was  a  thief, 
but  he  was  no  murderer,  and  his  bad  repute  had 
stood  me  in  good  stead.  Attention  had  been  so 
drawn  to  him  by  the  circumstances  in  which  the  devil 
had  entangled  him,  that  it  had  never  even  glanced 
my  way  and  now  never  would.  Of  course,  I  wanted 
to  save  him,  and  if  the  only  help  I  could  now  give 
him  was  to  sit  as  judge  upon  his  case,  then  would 
I  sit  as  judge  whatever  mental  torture  it  involved. 

Sending  for  Mr.  Black,  I  asked  him  pointblank 
whether  in  face  of  the  circumstance  that  the  victim 
of  this  murder  was  my  best  friend,  he  would  not 
prefer  to  plead  his  case  before  Judge  Grosvenor. 
He  answered  no:  that  he  had  more  confidence  in 
my  equity  even  under  these  circumstances  than  in 
that  of  my  able,  but  headstrong,  colleague;  and 
prayed  me  to  get  well.  He  did  not  say  that  he  ex- 
pected me  on  this  very  account  to  show  even  more 


364  DARK  HOLLOW 

favour  towards  his  client  than  I  might  otherwise 
have  done,  but  I  am  sure  that  he  meant  it;  and,  taking 
his  attitude  as  an  omen,  I  obeyed  his  injunction  and 
was  soon  well  enough  to  take  my  seat  upon  the 
Bench. 

No  one  will  expect  me  to  enlarge  upon  the  suf- 
ferings of  that  time.  By  some  I  was  thought  sto- 
ical; by  others,  a  prey  to  such  grief  that  only  my 
duty  as  judge  kept  me  to  my  task.  Neither  opinion 
was  true.  What  men  saw  facing  them  from  the 
Bench  was  an  automaton  wound  up  to  do  so  much 
work  each  day.  The  real  Ostrander  was  not  there, 
but  stood,  an  unseen  presence  at  the  bar,  undergo- 
ing trial  side  by  side  with  John  Scoville,  for  a  crime 
to  make  angels  weep  and  humanity  hide  its  head: 
hypocrisy ! 

But  the  days  went  by  and  the  inexorable  hour 
drew  nigh  for  the  accused  man's  release  or  condem- 
nation. Circumstances  were  against  him  —  so  was 
his  bearing  which  I  alone  understood.  If,  as  all 
felt,  it  was  that  of  a  guilty  man,  it  was  so  because 
he  had  been  guilty  in  intent  if  not  in  fact.  He  had 
meant  to  attack  Etheridge.  He  had  run  down  the 
ravine  for  that  purpose,  knowing  my  old  friend's 
whistle  and  envying  him  his  watch.  Or  why  his 
foolish  story  of  having  left  his  stick  behind  him 
at  the  chestnut?  But  the  sound  of  my  approaching 
steps  higher  up  on  the  path  had  stopped  him  in  mid- 
career  and  sent  him  rushing  up  the  slope  ahead  of 
me.  When  he  came  back  after  a  short  circuit  of 
the  fields  beyond,  it  was  to  find  his  crime  forestalled 


DARK  HOLLOW  365 

and  by  the  very  weapon  he  had  thrown  into  the 
Hollow  as  he  went  skurrying  by.  It  was  the  shock 
of  this  discovery,  heightened  by  the  use  he  made 
of  it  to  secure  the  booty  thus  thrown  in  his  way 
without  crime,  which  gave  him  the  hang-dog  look 
we  all  noted.  That  there  were  other  reasons  — 
that  the  place  recalled  another  scene  of  brutality  in 
which  intention  had  been  followed  by  act,  I  did  not 
then  know.  It  was  sufficient  to  me  then  that  my 
safety  was  secured  by  his  own  guilty  consciousness 
and  the  prevarications  into  which  it  led  him.  In- 
stead of  owning  up  to  the  encounter  he  had  so 
barely  escaped,  he  confined  himself  to  the  simple 
declaration  of  having  heard  voices  somewhere  near 
the  bridge,  which  to  all  who  know  the  ravine  ap- 
peared impossible  under  the  conditions  named. 

Yet,  for  all  these  incongruities  and  the  failure  of 
his  counsel  to  produce  any  definite  impression  by  the 
prisoner's  persistent  denial  of  having  whittled  the 
stick  or  even  of  having  carried  it  into  Dark  Hol- 
low, I  expected  a  verdict  in  his  favour.  Indeed,  I 
was  so  confident  of  it  that  I  suffered  less  during  the 
absence  of  the  jury  than  at  any  other  time,  and  when 
they  returned,  with  that  air  of  solemn  decision  which 
proclaims  unanimity  of  mind  and  a  ready  verdict, 
I  was  so  prepared  for  his  acquittal  that  for  the  first 
time  since  the  opening  of  the  trial,  I  felt  myself 
a  being  of  flesh  and  blood,  with  human  sentiments 
and  hopes.  And  it  was: 

"Guilty!" 

When  I  woke  to  a  full  realisation  of  what  this 


366  DARK  HOLLOW 

entailed  (for  I  must  have  lost  consciousness  for  a 
minute,  though  no  one  seemed  to  notice),  the  one 
fact  staring  me  in  the  face  —  staring  as  a  live  thing 
stares  —  was  that  it  would  devolve  upon  me  to  pro- 
nounce his  sentence;  upon  me,  Archibald  Ostrander, 
an  automaton  no  longer,  but  a  man  realising  to  the 
full  his  part  in  this  miscarriage  of  justice. 

Somehow,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  I  had  thought 
little  of  this  possibility  previous  to  this  moment.  I 
found  myself  upon  the  brink  of  this  new  gulf  be- 
fore the  dizziness  of  my  escape  from  the  other  had 
fully  passed.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  recoiled,  sought 
to  gain  time,  put  off  delivering  the  sentence  from 
day  to  day?  I  had  sinned, —  sinned  irredeemably 
—  but  there  are  depths  of  infamy  beyond  which  a 
man  cannot  go.  I  had  reached  that  point.  Chaos 
confronted  me,  and  in  contemplation  of  it,  I  fell  ill. 

What  saved  me  ?  A  new  discovery,  and  the  loving 
sympathy  of  my  son  Oliver.  One  night  —  a  mo- 
mentous one  to  me  —  he  came  to  my  room  and, 
closing  the  door  behind  him,  stood  with  his  back 
to  it,  contemplating  me  in  a  way  that  startled  me. 

What  had  happened?  What  lay  behind  this  new 
and  penetrating  look,  this  anxious  and  yet  persistent 
manner?  I  dared  not  think.  I  dared  not  yield  to 
the  terror  which  must  follow  thought.  Terror 
blanches  the  cheek  and  my  cheek  must  never  blanch 
under  anybody's  scrutiny.  Never,  never,  so  long  as 
I  lived. 

"  Father," —  the  tone  quieted  me,  for  I  knew 
from  its  gentleness  that  he  was  hesitating  to  speak 


DARK  HOLLOW  367 

more  on  his  own  account  than  on  mine  — "  you  are 
not  looking  well;  this  thing  worries  you.  I  hate  to 
see  you  like  this.  Is  it  just  the  loss  of  your  old 
friend,  or  —  or  — " 

He  faltered,  not  knowing  how  to  proceed.  There 
was  nothing  strange  in  this.  There  could  not  have 
been  much  encouragement  in  my  expression.  I  was 
holding  on  to  myself  with  much  too  convulsive  a 
grasp. 

"  Sometimes  I  think,"  he  recommenced,  "  that  you 
don't  feel  quite  sure  of  this  man  Scoville's  guilt.  Is 
that  so?  Tell  me,  father." 

I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  him.  There  was 
no  shrinking  from  me;  no  conscious  or  unconscious 
accusation  in  voice  or  look,  but  there  was  a  desire 
to  know,  and  a  certain  latent  resolve  behind  it  all 
that  marked  the  line  between  obedient  boyhood 
and  thinking,  determining  man.  With  all  my  dread 
—  a  dread  so  great  I  felt  the  first  grasp  of  age  upon 
my  heart-strings  at  that  moment  —  I  recognised  no 
other  course  than  to  meet  this  inquiry  of  his  with 
the  truth  —  that  is,  with  just  so  much  of  the  truth 
as  was  needed.  No  more,  not  one  jot  more.  I, 
therefore,  answered,  and  with  a  show  of  self-posses- 
sion at  which  I  now  wonder: 

"  You  are  not  far  from  right,  Oliver.  I  have  had 
moments  of  doubt.  The  evidence,  as  you  must  have 
noticed,  is  purely  circumstantial." 

"  But  a  jury  has  convicted  him." 

"  Yes." 

"  On  the  evidence  you  mention?  " 


368  DARK  HOLLOW 

"  Yes." 

"  What  evidence  would  satisfy  you?  What 
would  you  consider  a  conclusive  proof  of  guilt?  " 

I  told  him  in  the  set  phrases  of  my  profession. 

"  Then,"  he  declared  as  I  finished,  "  you  may 
rest  easy  as  to  this  man's  right  to  receive  a  sentence 
of  death." 

I  could  not  trust  my  ears. 

"  I  know  from  personal  observation,"  he  pro- 
ceeded, approaching  me  with  a  firm  step,  "  that  he 
is  not  only  capable  of  the  crime  for  which  he  has 
been  convicted,  but  that  he  has  actually  committed 
one  under  similar  circumstances,  and  possibly  for  the 
same  end." 

And  he  told  me  the  story  of  that  night  of  storm 
and  bloodshed, —  a  story  which  will  be  found  lying 
near  this,  in  my  alcove  of  shame  and  contrition. 

It  had  an  overwhelming  effect  upon  me.  I  had 
been  very  near  death.  Suicide  must  have  ended  the 
struggle  in  which  I  was  engaged,  had  not  this  knowl- 
edge of  actual  and  unpunished  crime  come  to  ease  my 
conscience.  John  Scoville  was  worthy  of  death,  and, 
being  so,  should  receive  the  full  reward  of  his  deed. 
I  need  hesitate  no  longer. 

That  night  I  slept. 

But  there  came  a  night  when  I  did  not.  After 
the  penalty  had  been  paid  and  to  most  men's  eyes 
that  episode  was  over,  I  turned  the  first  page  of 
that  volume  of  slow  retribution  which  is  the  doom 
of  the  man  who  sins  from  impulse,  and  has  the  re- 


DARK  HOLLOW  369^ 

coil  of  his  own  nature  to  face  relentlessly  to  the  en'd 
of  his  days. 

Scoville  was  in  his  grave. 

I  was  alive. 

Scoville  had  shot  a  man  for  his  money. 

I  had  struck  a  man  down  in  my  wrath. 

Scoville's  widow  and  little  child  must  face  a  cold 
and  unsympathetic  world,  with  small  means  and  dis- 
grace rising,  like  a  wall,  between  them  and  social 
sympathy,  if  not  between  them  and  the  actual  means 
of  living. 

Oliver's  future  faced  him  untouched.  No  shadow 
lay  across  his  path  to  hinder  his  happiness  or  to  mar 
his  chances. 

The  results  were  unequal.  I  began  to  see  them 
so,  and  feel  the  gnawing  of  that  deathless  worm 
whose  ravages  lay  waste  the  breast,  while  hand  and 
brain  fulfil  their  routine  of  work,  as  though,  all  were 
well  and  the  foundations  of  life  unshaken. 

I  suffered  as  only  cowards  suffer.  I  held  on  to 
honour;  I  held  on  to  home;  I  held  on  to  Oliver, 
but  with  misery  for  my  companion  and  a  self-con- 
tempt which  nothing  could  abate.  Each  time  I 
mounted  the  Bench.,  I  felt  a  tug  at  my  arm  as  of  a 
visible,  restraining  presence.  Each  time  I  returned 
to  my  home  and  met  the  clear  eye  of  Oliver  beaming 
upon  me  with  its  ever  growing  promise  of  future 
comradeship,  I  experienced  a  rebellion  against  my 
own  happiness  which  opened  my  eyes  to  my  own 
nature  and  its  inevitable  demand.  I  must  give  up 


370  DARK  HOLLOW 

Oliver;  or  yield  my  honours,  make  a  full  confession 
and  accept  whatever  consequences  it  might  bring. 
I  am  a  proud  man,  and  the  latter  alternative  was 
beyond  me.  With  each  passing  day,  the  certainty 
of  this  became  more  absolute  and  more  fixed.  In 
every  man's  nature  there  lurk  possibilities  of  action 
which  he  only  recognises  under  stress,  also  impossi- 
bilities which  stretch  like  an  iron  barrier  between  him 
and  the  excellence  he  craves.  I  had  come  up  against 
such  an  impossibility.  I  could  forego  pleasure, 
travel,  social  intercourse,  and  even  the  companion- 
ship of  the  one  being  in  whom  all  my  hopes  cen- 
tred, but  I  could  not,  of  my  own  volition,  pass  from 
the  judge's  bench  to  the  felon's  cell.  There  I  struck 
the  immovable, —  the  impassable. 

I  decided  in  one  awful  night  of  renunciation  that 
I  would  send  Oliver  out  of  my  life. 

The  next  day  I  told  him  abruptly  .  .  .  hurting 
him  to  spare  myself  .  .  .  that  I  had  decided  after 
long  and  mature  thought  to  yield  to  his  desire  for 
journalism,  and  that  I  would  start  him  in  his  career 
and  maintain  him  in  it  for  three  years  if  he  would 
subscribe  to  the  following  conditions : 

They  were  the  hardest  a  loving  father  ever  im- 
posed upon  a  dutiful  and  loving  son. 

First:  he  was  to  leave  home  immediately  .  .  . 
within  a  few  hours,  in  fact. 

Secondly:  he  was  to  regard  all  relations  between 
us  as  finished;  we  were  to  be  strangers  henceforth  in 
every  particular  save  that  of  the  money  obligation 
already  mentioned. 


DARK  HOLLOW  371 

Thirdly:  he  was  never  to  acknowledge  this  com- 
pact, or  to  cast  any  slur  upon  the  father  whose  rea- 
sons for  this  apparently  unnatural  conduct  were  quite 
disconnected  with  any  fault  of  his  or  any  desire  to 
punish  or  reprove. 

Fourthly:  he  was  to  pray  for  his  father  every 
night  of  his  life  before  he  slept. 

Was  this  last  a  confession?  Had  I  meant  it  to 
be  such?  If  so,  it  missed  its  point.  It  awed  but 
did  not  enlighten  him.  I  had  to  contend  with  his 
compunctions,  as  well  as  with  his  grief  and  dismay. 
It  was  an  hour  of  struggle  on  his  part  and  of 
implacable  resolution  on  mine.  Nothing  but  such 
hardness  on  my  part  would  have  served  me.  Had 
I  faltered  once  he  would  have  won  me  over,  and 
the  tale  of  my  sleepless  nights  been  repeated. 
I  did  not  falter;  and  when  the  midnight  stroke 
rang  through  the  house  that  night,  it  separa- 
ted by  its  peal,  a  sin-beclouded  but  human  past 
from  a  future  arid  with  solitude  and  bereft  of  the 
one  possession  to  retain  which  my  sin  had  been  hid- 
den. 

I  was  a  father  without  a  son  —  as  lonely  and 
as  desolate  as  though  the  separation  between  us  were 
that  of  the  grave  I  had  merited  and  so  weakly 
shunned. 

And  thus  I  lived  for  a  year. 

But  I  was  not  yet  satisfied. 

The  toll  I  had  paid  to  Grief  did  not  seem  to  me 
a  sufficient  punishment  for  a  crime  which  entailed 
imprisonment  if  not  death.  How  could  I  insure  for 


372  DARK  HOLLOW 

myself  the  extreme  punishment  which,  my  peace  de- 
manded, without  bringing  down  upon  me  the  full 
consequences  I  refused  to  accept. 

You  have  seen  to-day  how  I  ultimately  answered 
this  question.  A  convict's  bed!  a  convict's  isola- 
tion. 

Bela  served  me  in  this;  Bela  who  knew  my  secret 
and  knowing  continued  to  love  me.  He  gathered 
up  these  rods  singly  and  in  distant  places  and  set 
them  up  across  the  alcove  in  my  room.  He  had 
been  a  convict  once  himself. 

Being  now  in  my  rightful  place,  I  could  sleep 
again. 

But  after  some  weeks  of  this,  fresh  fears  arose. 
An  accident  was  possible.  For  all  Bela's  precau- 
tions, some  one  might  gain  access  to  this  room.  This 
would  mean  the  discovery  of  my  secret.  Some  new 
method  must  be  devised  for  securing  me  absolutely 
against  intrusion.  Entrance  into  my  simple,  al- 
most unguarded  cottage  must  be  made  impossible. 
A  close  fence  should  replace  the  pickets  now  sur- 
rounding it  —  a  fence  with  a  gate  having  its  own 
lock. 

And  this  fence  was  built. 

This  should  have  been  enough.  But  guilt  has 
terrors  unknown  to  innocence.  One  day  I  caught  a 
small  boy  peering  through  an  infinitesimal  crack  in, 
the  fence,  and,  remembering  the  window  grilled  with 
iron  with  which  Bela  had  replaced  the  cheerful  case- 
ment in  my  den  of  punishment,  I  realised  how  easily 
an  opening  might  be  made  between  the  boards  for 


DARK  HOLLOW  373 

the  convenience  of  a  curious  eye  anxious  to  penetrate 
the  mystery  of  my  seclusion. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  the  inner  fence  was 
put  up. 

This  settled  my  position  in  the  town.  No  more 
visits.  All  social  life  was  over. 

It  was  meet.  I  was  satisfied  at  last.  I  could 
now  give  my  whole  mind  to  my  one  remaining  duty. 
I  lived  only  while  on  the  Bench. 

March  Fifth,  1898. 

There  is  a  dream  which  comes  to  me  often:  a 
vision  which  I  often  see. 

It  is  that  of  two  broken  and  irregular  walls  stand- 
ing apart  against  a  background  of  roseate  sky.  Be- 
tween these  walls  the  figures  of  a  woman  and  child, 
turning  about  to  go. 

The  bridge  I  never  see,  nor  the  face  of  the  man 
who  died  for  my  sin;  but  this  I  see  always:  the  gaunt 
ruins  of  Spencer's  Folly  and  the  figure  of  a  woman 
leading  away  a  little  child. 

That  woman  lives.  I  know  now  who  she  is.  Her 
testimony  was  uttered  before  me  in  court,  and  was 
not  one  to  rouse  my  apprehensions.  My  crime  was 
unwitnessed  by  her,  and  for  years  she  has  been  a 
stranger  to  this  town.  But  I  have  a  superstitious 
horror  of  seeing  her  again,  while  believing  that  the 
day  will  come  when  I  shall  do  so.  When  this  oc- 
curs,—  when  I  look  up  and  find  her  in  my  path,  I 
shall  know  that  my  sin  has  found  me  out  and  that  the 
end  is  near. 


374  DARK  HOLLOW 

1909 

0  shade  of  Algernon  Etheridge,  unforgetting  and 
unforgiving!     The    woman    has    appeared!     She 
stood  in  this  room  to-day.     Verily,  years  are  nothing 
with  God. 

Added  later. 

1  thought  I  knew  what  awaited  me  if  my  hour 
ever  came.     But  who  can  understand  the  ways  of 
Providence  or  where  the  finger  of  retributive  Jus- 
tice will  point.     It  is  Oliver's  name  and  not  mine 
which  has  become  the  sport  of  calumny.     Oliver's ! 
Could  the  irony  of  life  go  further !     Oliver's! 

There  is  nothing  against  him,  and  such  folly  must 
soon  die  out;  but  to  see  doubt  in  Mrs.  Scoville's 
eyes  is  horrible  in  itself  and  to  eliminate  it  I  may 
have  to  show  her  Oliver's  account  of  that  long-for- 
gotten night  of  crime  in  Spencer's  Folly.  It  is 
naively  written  and  reveals  a  clean,  if  reticent,  na- 
ture; but  that  its  effect  may  be  unquestionable  I  will 
insert  a  few  lines  to  cover  any  possible  misinterpre- 
tation of  his  manner  or  conduct.  There  is  an  open 
space,  and  our  handwritings  were  always  strangely 
alike.  Only  our  e's  differed,  and  I  will  be  careful 
with  the  e's. 

Her  confidence  must  be  restored  at  all  hazards. 

My  last  foolish  attempt  has  undone  me.  Noth- 
ing remains  now  but  that  sacrifice  of  self  which 
should  have  been  made  twelve  years  ago. 


XXXV 

SUNSET 

"  I  DO  not  wish  to  seem  selfish,  Oliver,  but  sit  a 
little  nearer  the  window  where  I  can  see  you  when- 
ever I  open  my  eyes.  Twelve  years  is  a  long  time 
to  make  up,  and  I  have  such  a  little  while  in  which 
to  do  it." 

Oliver  moved.  The  moisture  sprang  to  his  eyes 
as  he  did  so.  He  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
face  on  the  pillow  and  the  changes  made  in  a  week 
were  very  apparent.  Always  erect,  his  father  had 
towered  above  them  then  even  in  his  self-abasement, 
but  he  looked  now  as  though  twenty  years,  instead 
of  a  few  days,  had  passed  over  his  stately  head  and 
bowed  his  incomparable  figure.  And  not  that  alone. 
His  expression  was  different.  Had  Oliver  not  seen 
him  in  his  old  likeness  for  that  one  terrible  half- 
hour,  he  would  not  know  these  features,  so  sunken, 
yet  so  eloquent  with  the  peace  of  one  for  whom  all 
struggle  is  over,  and  the  haven  of  his  long  rest  near. 

The  heart,  which  had  held  unflinchingly  to  its 
task  through  every  stress  of  self-torture,  succumbed 
under  the  relief  of  confession,  and  as  he  himself 
had  said,  there  was  but  little  time  left  him  to  fill  his 
eyes  and  heart  with  the  sight  of  this  strong  man  who 
had  replaced  his  boy  Oliver. 

He  had  hungered  so  for  his  presence  even  in  those 

375 


376  DARK  HOLLOW 

days  of  final  shrinking  and  dismay.  And  now,  the 
doubts,  the  dread,  the  inexpressible  humiliation  are 
all  in  the  past  and  there  remains  only  this, —  to 
feast  his  eyes  where  his  heart  has  so  long  feasted, 
and  to  thank  God  for  the  blessedness  of  a  speedy 
going,  which  has  taken  the  sword  from  the  hand  of 
Justice  and  saved  Oliver  the  anguished  sight  of  a 
father's  public  humiliation. 

Had  he  been  able  at  this  moment  to  look  beyond 
the  fences  which  his  fear  had  reared,  he  would  have 
seen  at  either  gate  a  silent  figure  guarding  the  walk, 
and  recalled,  perhaps,  the  horror  of  other  days  when 
at  the  contemplation  of  such  a  prospect,  his  spirit 
recoiled  upon  itself  in  unimaginable  horror  and  re- 
volt. And  yet,  who  knows!  Life's  passions  fade 
when  the  heart  is  at  peace.  And  Archibald  Os- 
trander's  heart  was  at  peace.  Why,  his  next  words 
will  show. 

"Oliver" — his  voice  was  low  but  very  distinct, 
"  never  have  a  secret;  never  hide  within  your  bosom 
a  thought  you  fear  the  world  to  know.  If  you've 
"done  wrong  —  if  you  have  disobeyed  the  law  either 
of  God  or  man  —  seek  not  to  hide  what  can  never 
be  hidden  so  long  as  God  reigns  or  men  make  laws,  i 
I  have  suffered,  as  few  men  have  suffered  and  kept, 
their  reason  intact.  Now  that  my  wickedness  isi 
known,  the  whole  page  of  my  life  defaced,  content 
has  come  again.  I  am  no  longer  a  deceiver,  my; 
very  worst  is  known." 

"  Oliver?  " —  This  some  minutes  later.  "  Are  we) 
alone?" 


SUNSET  377 

"  Quite  alone,  father.  Mrs.  Scoville  is  busy  and 
Reuther  —  Reuther  is  in  the  room  above.  I  can 
hear  her  light  step  overhead." 

The  judge  was  silent.  He  was  gazing  wistfully 
at  the  wall  where  hung  the  portrait  of  his  young 
wife.  He  was  no  longer  in  his  own  room,  but  in 
the  cheery  front  parlour.  This  Deborah  had  in- 
sisted upon.  There  was,  therefore,  nothing  to  dis- 
tract him  from  the  contemplation  I  have  mentioned. 

"  There  are  things  I  want  to  say  to  you.  Not 
many;  you  already  know  my  story.  But  I  do  not 
know  yours,  and  I  cannot  die  till  I  do.  What  took 
you  into  the  ravine  that  evening,  Oliver,  and  why, 
having  picked  up  the  stick,  did  you  fling  it  from 
you  and  fly  back  to  the  highway?  For  the  reason 
I  ascribed  to  Scoville?  Tell  me,  that  no  cloud  may 
remain  between  us.  Let  me  know  your  heart  as 
well  as  you  now  know  mine." 

The  reply  brought  the  blood  back  into  his  fading 
cheek. 

"  Father,  I  have  already  explained  all  this  to  Mr. 
Andrews,  and  now  I  will  explain  it  to  you.  I  never 
liked  Mr.  Etheridge  as  well  as  you  did,  and  I 
brooded  incessantly  in  those  days  over  the  influence 
which  he  seemed  to  exert  over  you  in  regard  to  my 
future  career.  But  I  never  dreamed  of  doing  him  a 
harm,  and  never  supposed  that  I  could  so  much  as 
attempt  any  argument  with  him  on  my  own  behalf 
till  that  very  night  of  infernal  complications  and 
coincidences.  The  cause  of  this  change  was  as  fol- 
lows :  I  had  gone  up  stairs,  you  remember,  leaving 


378  DARK  HOLLOW 

you  alone  with  him  as  I  knew  you  desired.  How  I 
came  to  be  in  the  room  above  I  don't  remember,  but  I 
was  there  and  leaning  out  of  the  window  directly  over 
the  porch  when  you  and  Mr.  Etheridge  came  out 
and  stood  in  some  final  debate  on  the  steps  below. 
He  was  talking  and  you  were  listening,  and  never 
shall  I  forget  the  effect  his  words  and  tones  had  upon 
me.  I  had  supposed  him  devoted  to  you,  and  here 
he  was  addressing  you  tartly  and  in  an  ungracious 
manner  which  bespoke  a  man  very  different  from  the 
one  I  had  been  taught  to  look  upon  as  superior. 
The  awe  of  years  yielded  before  this  display,  and 
finding  him  just  human  like  the  rest  of  us,  the  cour- 
age which  I  had  always  lacked  in  approaching  him 
took  instant  possession  of  me,  and  I  determined  with 
a  boy's  unreasoning  impulse  to  subject  him  to  a  per- 
sonal appeal  not  to  add  his  influence  to  the  dis- 
taste you  at  present  felt  for  the  career  upon  which 
I  had  set  my  heart.  Nothing  could  have  been  more 
foolish  and  nothing  more  natural,  perhaps,  than  the 
act  which  followed.  I  ran  down  into  the  ravine 
with  the  wild  intention,  so  strangely  duplicated  in 
yourself  a  few  minutes  later,  of  meeting  and  plead- 
ing my  cause  with  him  at  the  bridge,  but  unlike  you, 
I  took  the  middle  of  the  ravine  for  my  road  and 
not  the  secluded  path  at  the  side.  It  was  this  which 
determined  our  fate,  father,  for  here  I  ran  up 
against  the  chestnut  tree,  saw  the  stick  and,  catch- 
ing it  up  without  further  thought  than  of  the  facility 
it  offered  for  whittling,  started  with  it  down  the  ra- 
vine. Scoville  was  not  in  sight.  The  moment  was 


SUNSET  379 

the  one  when  he  had  quit  looking  for  Reuther  an4 
wandered  away  up  the  ravine.  I  have  thought  since 
that  perhaps  the  glimpse  he  had  got  of  his  little  one 
peering  from  the  scene  of  his  crime  may  have  stirred 
even  his  guilty  conscience  and  sent  him  off  on  this 
purposeless  ramble ;  but,  however  this  was,  I  did  not 
see  him  or  anybody  else  as  I  took  my  way  leisurely 
down  towards  the  bridge,  whittling  at  the  stick  and 
thinking  of  what  I  should  say  to  Mr.  Etheridge 
when  I  met  him.  And  now  for  Fate's  final  and  most 
fatal  touch!  Nothing  which  came  into  my  mind 
struck  me  quite  favourably.  The  encounter  which 
seemed  such  a  very  simple  matter  when  I  first  con- 
templated it,  began  to  assume  quite  a  different  as- 
pect as  the  moment  for  it  approached.  By  the  time 
I  had  come  abreast  of  the  Hollow,  I  was  tired  of 
the  whole  business,  and  hearing  his  whistle  and  know- 
ing by  it  that  he  was  very  near,  I  plunged  up  the 
slope  to  avoid  him,  and  hurried  straight  away  into 
town.  That  is  my  story,  father.  If  I  heard  your 
s'teps  approaching  as  I  plunged  across  the  path  into 
which  I  had  thrown  the  stick  in  my  anger  at  having 
broken  the  point  of  my  knife-blade  upon  it,  I  thought 
nothing  of  them  then.  Afterwards  I  believed  them 
to  be  Scoville's,  which  may  account  to  you  for  my 
silence  about  this  whole  matter  both  before  and  dur- 
ing the  trial.  I  was  afraid  of  the  witness-stand  and 
of  what  might  be  elicited  from  me  if  I  once  got 
into  the  hands  of  the  lawyers.  My  abominable  ret- 
icence in  regard  to  his  former  crime  would  be  brought 
up  against  me,  and  I  was  yet  too  young,  too  shy  and 


38o  DARK  HOLLOW 

uninformed  to  face  such  an  ordeal  of  my  own  voli- 
tion. Unhappily,  I  was  not  forced  into  it,  and  — 
But  we  will  not  talk  of  that,  father." 

"  Son," —  a  long  silence  had  intervened, — "  there 
is  one  thing  more.  When  —  how  —  did  you  first 
learn  my  real  reason  for  sending  you  from  home? 
I  saw  that  my  position  was  understood  by  you  when 
our  eyes  first  met  in  this  room.  But  twelve  years 
had  passed  since  you  left  this  house  in  ignorance  of 
all  but  my  unnatural  attitude  towards  you.  When, 
Oliver,  when?  " 

"  That  I  cannot  answer,  father;  it  was  just  a  con- 
viction which  dawned  gradually  upon  me.  Now,  it 
seems  as  if  I  had  known  it  always;  but  that  isn't  so. 
A  boy  doesn't  reason ;  and  it  took  reasoning  for  me- 
to  —  to  accept  — " 

"  Yes,  I  understand.  And  that  was  your  se- 
cret! Oh,  Oliver,  I  shall  never  ask  for  your  for- 
giveness. I  am  not  worthy  it.  I  only  ask  that  you 
will  not  let  pride  or  any  other  evil  passion  stand 
in  the  way  of  the  happiness  I  see  in  the  future  for 
you.  I  cannot  take  from  you  the  shame  of  my 
crime  and  long  deception,  but  spare  me  this  final 
sorrow  I  There  is  nothing  to  part  you  from  Reuther 
now.  Alike  unhappy  in  your  parentage,  you  can 
start  on  equal  terms,  and  love  will  do  the  rest.  Say 
that  you  will  marry  her,  Oliver,  and  let  me  see  her 
smile  before  I  die." 

"  Marry  her?  Oh,  father,  will  such  an  angel 
marry  me?  " 

"  No,  but  such  a  woman  might" 


SUNSET  381 

Oliver  came  near,  and  stooped  over  his  father's 
bed. 

"  Father,  if  love  and  attention  to  my  profession 
can  make  a  success  of  the  life  you  prize,  they  shall 
have  their  opportunity." 

The  father  smiled.  If  it  fell  to  others  to  remem- 
ber him  as  he  appeared  in  his  mysterious  prime,  to 
Oliver  it  was  given  to  recall  him  as  he  looked  then 
with  the  light  on  his  face  and  the  last  tear  he  was 
ever  to  shed  glittering  in  his  fading  eye. 

"  God  is  good,"  came  from  the  bed;  then  the  sol- 
emnity of  death  settled  over  the  room. 

The  soft  footfalls  overhead  ceased.  The  long 
hush  had  brought  the  two  women  to  the  door  where 
they  stood  sobbing.  Oliver  was  on  his  knees  be- 
side the  bed,  his  head  buried  in  his  arms.  On  the 
face  so  near  him  there  rested  a  ray  from  the  wester- 
ing sun;  but  the  glitter  was  gone  from  the  eye  and 
the  unrest  from  the  heart.  No  more  weary  vigils 
in  a  room  dedicated  to  remorse  and  self-punishment. 
No  more  weary  circling  of  the  house  in  the  dark 
lane  whose  fences  barred  out  the  hurrying  figure 
within  from  every  eye  but  that  of  Heaven.  Peace 
for  him;  and  for  Reuther  and  Oliver,  hope! 


iTHE  END 


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